


Blue Skies

by wellclutchmypearls



Category: Glass (2019), Split (2016)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Canon, Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Romance, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Comfort, Developing Relationship, F/M, Firsts, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Music, Love, No Underage Sex, Protectiveness, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, True Love, like the slowest burn ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 20:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 96,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16583183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellclutchmypearls/pseuds/wellclutchmypearls
Summary: Casey Cooke is taken by a man for a purpose which she could have never fathomed..."If you stay with me, he'll never hurt you again. Never."\\ "Behind every beautiful thing, there's been some kind of pain." - Bob Dylan //





	1. And the Clouds Are Weeping

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally published February 2017 - re-posting and continuing]
> 
> By writing this story, I hope to use this work to show that those of us who live with mental health issues are not villains or monsters, that we all have a potential for both good and bad, and above all - not all hope is lost after abuse.
> 
> I do not own any of the characters in this story, and other than a few lines from the movie, all other written word belongs to me.
> 
> Your comments and kudos mean the world to me!! Thank you for reading!
> 
> (Personal note at end of chapter 1)

Casey Cooke, a dark-haired girl with equally dark eyes, sat alone on a bench by the wide-paned front window of the restaurant where a fellow student's birthday party was being held. Ever the loner, she'd been surprised by the invitation, especially since it came from one of the more popular girls in her art class. Still, she knew Claire only invited her to be nice.

When Casey's uncle dropped her off earlier in the evening, the Mexican restaurant was already full of laughter and a cacophony of voices, and she had been tempted to turn right back around and go. However, she reminded herself that it would be a few precious hours of freedom from her uncle away from home. Even a loud party where she knew almost no one there practically shone in comparison.

As the server wheeled out a large cake with lit candles, the group began singing "Happy Birthday," and that's when Casey had taken the opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

Now, finally alone and able to breathe normally again, she sat sketching the distant silhouette of Philadelphia's skyline and pretended to wait for a ride that she figured would never come. Not if her Uncle John decided to head to the bar with his buddies tonight.

Charcoal gray thunderheads had begun to roll in during the party, and the sky looked like it might start to pour rain at any moment. 

Casey let her pencil drop to the page, and she surveyed the parking lot outside as a few of her classmates started filing out to leave.

Almost everyone her age at school already had their own cars, mostly new and bought by their wealthy parents. Casey wouldn't have cared if she had a used and battered old clunker, as long as it worked. The only thing that mattered to her was that having her own car would mean freedom. But, of course, Uncle John wouldn't allow her to have a car. She couldn't even have a part-time job to save up for one. And of course, she couldn't mention the idea of going to college either, not after John's blow-up when she'd asked about it a few months ago. Now her senior year was finished, and graduation was only a week away.

The restaurant would be closing soon, and the parking lot, which had been packed full of cars when she first sat down, was finally beginning to thin now.

Casey's keen eyes recognized the bespectacled man sitting in a red coupe in the same parking spot he'd taken when she got there hours earlier.

She assumed he'd already had his meal and came back out before she noticed. Or perhaps he'd gone to one of the other nearby restaurants or stores. Still, something told her that he'd never even left his car. She might have paid the man no mind, except now she could see that he was lifting his glasses to wipe his eyes of fresh tears.

Maybe he got stood up for a date, she thought, or he got a call with some bad news. Or maybe he simply didn't have anyone at all, just like her.

Considering that, she felt a bit sorry for him. Not many people could handle being alone like Casey could. She was used to it. She knew she would always be different from other people. Especially the lucky ones with friends and family who loved them and kept them safe. They weren't aware of the evil lurking behind smiling faces yet. They would never have to lie awake in total fear at night in their own homes. 

She didn't hate anyone who had it easy — not at all. But she did envy them. It all seemed to come so naturally for others to be personable and interact without awkwardness. They never seemed to have any difficulty in coming up with endless and mostly useless things to say, nor did they ever have to consciously think about the right amount of eye contact or body language. Casey didn't have social skills anymore, she supposed. If she ever had them at all.

Just as she was putting her sketchbook away in her canvas messenger bag and preparing herself for a long walk to the nearest bus station, she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat just behind her. They were waiting for her — Claire Benoit, her dad, and her best friend, Marcia.

"You have a ride coming? We're getting ready to head out, but I'd hate to leave you here alone," the father said.

It was a kind gesture. Casey remembered he'd introduced himself as Mark when she arrived earlier.

"Why don't you come with us? We can drop you off at your house." 

"No, that's okay. My uncle should be here soon."

"Are you sure he's coming? It's about to rain," Claire said. "And if you don't catch a ride with us, you'll miss out on all of my dad's lame jokes."

Casey managed a half-smile for them, but her nerves were buzzing. Claire was actually sort of sweet, as it turned out. So were Mark and Marcia. But they were from a completely different world, and Casey was feeling even more alien among them now. Plus the thought of them seeing where she lived made her stomach begin to knot up.

She turned her head and glanced out the window for a moment as she considered her reply. 

The man in glasses still sat alone in his car with his hands gripping the wheel tightly.  

"Oh!" she said, then pointed. "There's my uncle. I just...didn't see him there before." She didn't even know why she had the impulse to make something like that up, but there it was, already out in the open. A bald-faced lie.

"Okay." Claire pressed her lips together, and Casey wondered if she knew she wasn't telling the truth. "Well...thanks for coming."

"Thanks for inviting me." Casey suddenly hated herself for purposefully disengaging from the party tonight and even more for lying so easily to them. She balanced awkwardly on the sides of her combat boots for a moment. She figured she'd just stall until they left, and then she could make her way to the bus station. "I'll see you at graduation, I guess." 

The four of them stood in the foyer for a beat longer. When she realized they were waiting for her to walk out with them, she flushed red. Now they would know for sure that she was a liar.

Without being asked, she picked up one of the sacks full of carry-out boxes that Mark had set on the floor. At least if she helped them load up their car, maybe they would leave before she had to make something else up.

Casey's ears were almost ringing, she was so nervous and flustered as they walked out of the restaurant. She was able to tune out the other two girls as they chattered and giggled and looked at each other's phones. They were completely in their own bubble as they got into the backseat. 

 _Must be nice,_ Casey thought to herself, _being so blissfully ignorant._

She held the sacks of food and waited while Claire's dad secured what was left of the tiered birthday cake in the trunk of his car.

When she scanned the parking lot again, she could have sworn that the man in the red car was looking right back at her for a split second. He rubbed one hand over his head, a nervous tic perhaps, and then he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his car door.

 _No! Not yet,_ she silently protested to the stranger. _At least wait until they're gone_. If he went inside the restaurant, what would they think of her?

But he didn't head in that direction at all. Instead, he was advancing toward them, striding with purpose, his low-top boots making a muffled rhythm on the pavement with each step.

Casey stood unable to move as she watched him approach.

His brows were drawn together, making him appear stern and determined, even frightening. He looked much different than he had in his car moments ago. There, he had seemed almost vulnerable. Now his fists were clenching.

Before Mark even knew what was happening, the man drew back and punched him so solidly, he was immediately out cold. Without a sound, Mark fell forward halfway into the trunk, crushing some of the food containers beneath his chest as he slumped.

Casey couldn't even scream as she watched it all playing out before her, like a sick film, as if she wasn't really there.

Would Marcia and Claire even look up from their phones or hear the commotion?

The man was turning to her now.

Was anyone watching at all?

He fumbled for something in his back pocket. She prayed it wasn't a gun.

Would someone see? Would they call the police?

His eyes locked onto hers, and he pulled a white dust mask out then snapped it over his nose and mouth.

She was frozen helplessly in his line of sight, a deer caught in headlights. Caught in the blue of his eyes as the first raindrops of the night began to fall on them both. There was no time for her to run or get in the car with the other girls and lock the doors before he produced a small spray can of some sort from the pocket of his crisp collared shirt.

That's when he began dousing her nose and mouth with its aerosolized contents.

Dizziness came instantly, then her vision began to blur. She tried to take a step away from him, but her limbs were growing heavy as lead, and her reactions became more sluggish by the second.

"I'm sorry," she heard the strange man say before the blackness of unconsciousness took over. Then she dropped limply into his arms. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm sorry for deleting my story before, abandoning Tumblr & ao3, and basically just disappearing for a year. I really hope you all forgive me and still want to read and comment, etc. 
> 
> I can't fully explain everything I have been going through. I was getting overwhelmed, and I felt pressured to write faster than I could manage.
> 
> I was dealing with the loss of all 3 of my remaining grandparents in the span of 6 months (which was a huge blow since they were a huge part of my life and a large part of my childhood too). Then to top everything off, I came down with fairly severe pneumonia. It's been a rough year.
> 
> Aside from some pretty substantial medical bills, things are looking up now. I've recovered, and my chest x-ray on Wednesday was totally clear. I am now completely clean from some of my worst vices that had become a crutch over the last few years, and I'm focused on making my life better.
> 
> I've had a tug on my heart to come back to this story now that things are looking up again, so I hope you guys are ready to re-read Blue Skies and see where things go next. 
> 
> I'll be rewriting and tweaking a few parts as I repost the once-published chapters over the next few weeks and months, and then you'll be seeing some new content after that. I will definitely finish this story, but please understand I do have a job and bills and a life outside of writing, and I won't be able to complete this super-fast. Just please be patient. But feel free to let me know all the positive things, and that will be all the encouragement I need. 
> 
> Love to you all.
> 
> P.S. If you guys can remember or think of any relevant tags for my story, feel free to comment and let me know. 
> 
> XO - Jai


	2. Wavering Shadows Loom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey meets her abductors.

[Broken - Olafur Arnalds](https://youtu.be/wC-OinzRMyc)

Casey had learned a long time ago that dreams only ever served to bring her fresh sorrow, tearing open old wounds that refused to heal. And even in this drug-induced sleep, this limp-limbed, almost paralyzed state, there they were, the memories moving in and out of her mind's eye that were so vivid, so real, she could swear it was happening to her right now.

At first, there was nothing, just blackness, time passing by without her. Then there were small scraps of sensations. The vibrations of a car going over the grooves and bumps of a road, the crunch of gravel under tires.

_She's riding in the pickup next to Daddy. Her heart is light and free in the security and warmth of her father's presence. His right arm is slung over the back of the pickup seat behind Casey as he drives, his left hand expertly turning the steering wheel as they go around a corner. She's buckled in and smiling. There's the sensation of cold in her hands and an icy sweetness on her tongue. A snow cone. Her favorite. Tiger's Blood._

_The windows are down, the radio is off, and he's singing that old song he always loved._

_And Scout is there too, her father's old hunting dog that he always said was "a little bit German Shorthair and Lord knows what else." She's hanging her head happily out of the passenger window, catching the scents as they ride along, her silky ears flapping in the warm breeze._

_Please don't let this end..._

_"Blue skies, smilin' at me," her father sings, and he looks over at her as they pause at a stop sign. His kind eyes are just like hers, soil-rich and vibrant, and he gently ruffles her dark brown curls with his hand. She can feel herself grinning back at him with a red syrup-stained mouth. "Nothing but blue skies do I see."_

_The scene shifts before she can will her mind to make it keep going._

_Her heart aches for the loss of the happy moment...so few of them in her life...but then it's okay again. He is there again._

_She can feel him carrying her, holding her close to his chest and cradling her in his arms like a baby, even though she's plenty old enough to walk. She sometimes wakes him up early on Saturday mornings, but he never minds. He's taking her to the recliner so he can catch some more rest while she watches cartoons. She can feel the weight of her favorite patchwork quilt, the one Daddy says her grandma made years ago, as he pulls it over the both of them. And they stay there together like that, with her on his lap in the chair._

_There's such comfort, such immensely perfect comfort, in her father's embrace._

_Daddy dozes on and off, and she presses her face against him, warming her chubby cheek and breathing in the laundry-fresh scent from his shirt. She can hear the low ba-bomp, ba-bomp of his heart now._

_Keep beating. Just keep beating and never ever stop. Don't ever leave me._

_When she closes her eyes again, she can feel the separation in the new darkness. The memory is fading away, and her dreams are shifting like movie scenes inside her mind's eye._

_He is gone. It's a terrible, painful severing._

_Now she can hear a slight jangle of wire coat hangers just above her head. She's hiding in the closet again._

_"Caseyyy." Uncle John is calling for her. There's a sing-song quality in his voice._

_Hot tears spill onto her cheeks. She knows he'll find her, even behind the clothes._

_He's in the bedroom now._

_"Casey-Bear," he says again, and he sounds as if he's almost pleading with her to come out and play. But by now, she knows his sweet words and seemingly kind smiles usually only bear sour fruit._

_He's not like Daddy was. Not at all. But he tries to be. And it's wrong. All wrong._

_He's standing in front of the closet; there's his lumbering, wide silhouette through the slats of the sliding door. She's holding her breath, but he knows she's in here._

_How many places are there left to hide?_

_"Casey, don't you love me anymore?"_

_The closet door slides open with a metallic squeal, and she screams..._

Casey jolted awake, tears fresh on her face. The scream that began in her dream ended in a low, impotent groan in her scratchy throat. Her head ached dully, and a bitter taste had invaded her dry mouth. She wanted to move, but her indolent body wouldn't cooperate yet. She tried to remember what happened. Where was she? 

When she pulled in a deep breath to help clear her head, her nose pulled in a peculiar medley of scents. Something old and damp, almost earthy, like the basement level of the old library in town, the part that was built as a fall-out shelter back in the '50s. And freshly sawn wood, the chemical smell of plaster or paint, along with the pungency of bleach.

With her eyes barely beginning to focus, she turned her cheek into the collar of her red-and-black buffalo checked over-shirt and breathed in again. It was still fresh from the laundry but something new lingered there in the fabric. It was pleasant and somehow familiar. Then she realized it was cologne. Men's cologne.

Him. The man in glasses. The one who had taken her. He'd brought her here to this place.

"I'm sorry," he had said.

Casey sat up now, her heart speeding up with fear, and she found herself in a bed in the middle of a small, dimly lit room. She'd been tucked in with a sheet and quilt laid over her and two thin pillows stacked beneath her head.

To only add to her growing surprise, a flower had been carefully placed next to her pillow on the bed. A full and vibrant yellow bloom on a long green stem. As if she were some sort of important guest.

Quickly, she moved her hands over her body, checking for all her layers. Her military jacket was gone, and she wasn't sure where her messenger bag was. Her boots were missing too. Thankfully, however, she was otherwise still fully clothed.

He hadn't touched her. Not like that. She didn't think so anyway.

Casey knew she needed to be smart now. This was no time to panic or cause commotion. Not just yet. If she could be clever and cooperative, then maybe, just maybe, she could make it out of whatever this was alive.

Her shaky legs told her she still wasn't quite ready to stand, so she sat on the edge of the bed and drew in every aspect of her surroundings as her senses adjusted.

The only light in the room came from behind a partially open door to her right. Other than the metal-framed twin bed she was in, the room appeared empty. She was relieved to spot her combat boots sitting perfectly placed side-by-side in the floor by the bed.

What looked like new dry wall had been nailed up, creating bare, unpainted walls on three sides around her with the seams perfectly even, not a single nail-head left unaligned and nary a crack showing between the boards. He'd even put it up on the ceiling. The fourth wall was composed of stacked hard stone and mortar, and the floor was a thick slab of concrete. It was clearly an older building; she could discern that at least. She racked her mind to think of what and where it could be, but there were so many possibilities in the city...if she was even still in Philadelphia city limits.

Had he meant to pick her specifically? Or was it just that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, an easy target right in front of him? Because surely other girls had come and gone during all that time he'd been sitting in his car alone. So why her?

Is that just what men saw in her? An easy victim?

 _But I'm still alive right now,_  she reminded herself, even though she could not help the new tears welling in her eyes. She tried to steady her breathing. I've _still got a chance_. She wondered if someone saw what happened and called the police. Maybe they caught his license plate or the make of his car, that sharp-looking red coupe. It wasn't the kind of car she'd normally expect such a conservative-looking man would own.

She figured Claire and Marcia hadn't seen him before they'd gotten in their own backseat, too focused on themselves and their phones to notice anything around them at all. Maybe Claire's dad had at least reported her missing by now. Or would her disappearance just be chalked up to another troubled teen runaway, ready to go off on her own without bothering for the cap-and-gown ceremony? She'd run away from home before a few times, after all. But she'd always been forced to go back. Back to Uncle John.

Finally, Casey got up and walked over to the open door, and what lay inside wasn't what she'd expected at all. It was a pristine little bathroom, painted all in white, a stark contrast to the bare gray room in which she had been stowed away. There was a shower with a plain white vinyl curtain held up by metal roller rings, a white porcelain toilet, and there was even a small circular mirror over the sink. It had all been recently cleaned too, the odor of bleach still lingering. On the right hand side of the faucet, the man had arranged a bottle of unscented liquid hand soap, label facing forward, and he arranged another yellow flower in a thin tall vase.

After she relieved herself and washed up, she wet her face with cold water, and then cupped her hands to drink some from the faucet to soothe her dry mouth and wash away the acrid medicinal taste from her tongue. Her head was still throbbing with every pulse.

Casey knew better than to make some foolhardy attempt at escaping without a solid guarantee of success, but she still wanted to acclimate herself with her new surroundings and scope out any possible places to get out or hide. Quietly, she crept around the perimeter of the room, lightly knocking against the dry wall without making too much noise, just to see if there were any weak or hollow spots. Aside from the residual ringing in her ears, she could hear rhythmic, metallic sounds of machinery somewhere in the distance, along with a whooshing noise of liquid through pipes in the walls.

When she padded over to the only other door in the room, she could see it was composed of wood, somewhat thin, but sturdier than the cheap, hollow one that barely guarded her bedroom back at her uncle's house.

A thin ribbon of light shone in the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor, but it wasn't quite wide enough for her to see much of anything on the other side when she knelt down to peer through it. She thought she could see a red rug, maybe some wood furniture. There were no people or signs of life. Only the light.

Of course, she didn't have her phone; that was probably the first thing he'd discarded if he was smart. She never wore a watch, and there were no clocks or windows here either, so it impossible to tell what time it could be by now. Had she slept through the night, or had it only been a few hours? There was simply no way to know.

But Casey could think of at least one identifiable benefit, as peculiar and terrible as it might seem to anyone else. At least here, in this room, there was no Uncle John.

When she had finished her short exploration, she realized with certainty that she was trapped. The familiar, nerve-shaking, heart-pounding anxiety began to set in. She forced herself to go back to the bed and lie down. Once there, she placed her hands gently over her belly and began taking slow, deliberate breaths. She counted as she inhaled -  _1, 2, 3, 4, 5_  - and counted again with each exhalation, trying her best to ground herself back into her body again. She had learned the technique from a video online. YouTube and other forums were her only source of help when the anxiety attacks started. She would never reveal anything to school counselors or teachers; no adults could be trusted. And her uncle never had much money to shell out for doctor's visits, nor would he if she'd asked, and anti-anxiety medicine was entirely out of the question, so this was her method of coping. That, and cutting. But even her little cutting kit, which she always kept hidden inside an interior pocket of her messenger bag, wasn't available to her now.

She was no less frightened of what was happening and what might be coming, but her heart began to slow and her breathing normalized.

She wasn't sure how much more time had passed when she heard the sound of keys. The door flew open with no other warning, and though Casey dared not scream, she audibly gasped when he appeared.

The man closed the door behind him and walked a few more steps inside. Casey scrambled up to stand against the wall to face him. She didn't want to be vulnerable on the bed in front of him, even though she knew that he was the one who had laid her there, taken off her jacket and shoes, and tucked her in, almost like it had all been done with care.

In the warm white light streaming from the bathroom, she could see him clearly for the first time. His hair was shaved close to the scalp, although at first, she had thought he was balding. He could be considered handsome, perhaps, although that wasn't Casey's focus in the least. He had a slender and slightly angular face, a strong jaw, and well-groomed brown brows, between which lay two nearly parallel creases as he frowned at her from across the room. His pink lips weren't thin, nor over-plump, but when he pressed them together, they nearly disappeared. He was slim-waisted but looked quite physically fit, strong, and sturdy. Not someone she could fight off if it came down to it. She hoped she wouldn't have to try.

His crisply ironed black shirt was buttoned all the way to the collar, and it tightened in areas where his well-formed muscles swelled beneath the fabric. The shirt was tucked into his pants, which matched in color and neatness, fitting him so well that they might have been hand-tailored. His belt, rectangular glasses frames, and his shoes were also black and just as sleek and orderly-looking as the man himself.

In one hand, he held what appeared to be a full paper grocery bag. His other hand was balled into a fist, and at intervals, he splayed all five of his fingers out with his arm kept rigid at his side, before clenching them back together until they were white-knuckled again.

She watched him closely and for a moment, neither of them moved or said a word. When he looked at her, it was only very briefly, his soft blue eyes flitting from the floor up to her, then just as quickly back down again, as if it almost hurt him to see her.

She kept still, making it clear she was not going to be aggressive or make any sudden movements to try to escape; that was important to assure her survival. The first thing she needed to find out before anything else was why he had brought her here.

"Wh-what do you want?" she finally asked, when it was clear he wasn't going to talk first. 

The man pressed his lips together, and the pink disappeared again, and then he asked her in return, "Are you hungry?"

It wasn't an answer, but it was something.

She hadn't even thought about food, but her stomach _was_  feeling empty. How long had she been asleep? She knew she needed to keep up her strength, so when he looked at her for a response, she nodded that yes, she was.

"Alright. I'll, uh...I'll get you something to eat." He bent slightly to place the grocery sack on the floor, and then he turned his focus to the bed.

She tried to control her trembling when he paced forward, but she let out a small sigh of relief when, instead of coming for her, he only bent to make up the bed again. He took more time than Casey thought was necessary with smoothing out the sheets and tucking the ends of the quilt in until he was fully satisfied with its neatness.

When he got to the pillow, he saw the dark smudge where her eye makeup had rubbed against the white fabric when she cried in her sleep. Nervously, he rubbed the heel of his palm over his forehead and stroked it over the short hair of his scalp.

"It's soiled," he said aloud, and immediately, he pulled the pillowcase off, folded it in half to cover the offending stain, and then folded it twice more in his hand before walking back to the door. Casey was even more confused than before.

"Why am I here?" she asked before adding a soft, polite, "Please."

He paused and audibly sighed, seemingly less out of frustration than what sounded like defeat. Just when Casey thought he might give her some kind of answer, he moved forward and closed the door behind him without a word of response.

When she heard the lock click, Casey sank down to sit on the cold floor, exhaling shakily. At least for now, he didn't seem to want to cause her any immediate harm.

Only a little while had passed before she heard another door opening beyond her room. And there was talking, a conversation. Someone else was with him. A woman. Maybe she was someone who didn't know Casey was here, someone who could help her.

She rushed over on her socked feet and pressed her ear against the door to listen better.

"It's not right, what we've done, and you know it," she heard the man say.

"Have you lost your faith so soon?" It was an older woman's voice, quiet and refined but strong. Casey thought she could detect a slight English accent. "You're supposed to be the strongest of us all, and now you've let this weakness enter your heart."

"I just don't..." 

"What? You don't believe anymore? You don't think the girl is the proper gift for his emergence?"

"I don't know," he admitted. His tone seemed softer and more restrained in the woman's presence. "Just...this was risky. A stupid move. Someone might've seen me...or Barry's car. But it's more than that. This is...this is someone's _life_ here."

"Well, it's so good of you to address your concerns with me _after_ we've spent all this time preparing and planning!"

"It's not that I didn't...it's just different somehow. Now that she's really here. It feels wrong."

"She is one of the impure, Dennis." The woman's voice was familiar somehow. "So we're really doing her a favor, aren't we?" She paused. "And it will be no significant loss in comparison to the great and mighty works to come. Sow the seeds of faith, and we'll soon see the fruit."

"And what if you're wrong about all this? What if there is no B-"

"You must maintain the strength of your convictions. You _must_ believe," she said. "We are what we _believe_ we are. Isn't that right?"

He hesitated. "Yeah." 

"You're just addled by her pretty little face. Isn't that _really_ what's going on? You need to calm down and straighten out your thoughts. _I'll_ take her food in."

"No, don't go in there. Don't go in there!" Dennis gruffly protested. "I'll do it."

"No, you will go back to your chair, and we'll talk more when I return," she replied firmly. Apparently, that settled that, because Dennis didn't argue any further.

Casey could hear the woman's heels clacking against the floor as she moved toward the door, and she ran back to the wall, unsure of what might happen next.

But when the door swung open to reveal the second conspirator in her abduction, she could scarcely believe her own eyes.

 

 


	3. Girl Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey meets the second conspirator in her abduction.

Standing in the doorway was the same man. Except he was dressed entirely and quite unexpectedly different than before.

Now, he wore an ankle-length dark skirt and heels, a long-sleeved turtleneck sweater the color of blood, and a silver and opal locket on a chain that hung between the muscular mounds of his chest. He carried a folding tray in one hand and a plate with a sandwich in the other.

"Hello, dear," he said, and his voice was the same cool, soothing tone as the older British woman she'd heard in the other room.

Was this just an attempt to scare her even more?

"We haven't been properly introduced yet." With a quick, closed-lipped smile, he told her, "My name is Patricia. And you are?" 

Physically, he was unaltered. He had the same hair shaved close to the scalp, the same nose, lips, strong jaw, and sturdy form. But it seemed like everything else about the man had changed. Not just the clothing. His tone of voice was softer, his accent more genteel, his facial expressions less strained and more refined, and even his movements were graceful and flowing, instead of the nervous rigidity she'd seen him exhibit minutes ago. 

He waited for her reply, his brows raised quizzically.

"C-Casey," she managed to finally sputter out.

"Well. Casey," he said with a pause between each sentence. "Such a pleasure."

Aside from the moment he had taken her, the man had acted almost afraid to look directly at her. Not anymore. As Patricia, he was unabashedly and rather shrewdly observing her, as if he were an entirely different person altogether.

"I've brought you some dinner," he said in a subdued accent and presented the plate with a little flourish, like the plain-looking sandwich, cut straight down the center, was a gourmet meal.

"I - I don't understand."

"Food. You need to eat," Patricia replied matter-of-factly as he, or rather she, moved forward to set up the folding tray at the bedside just a few feet away from Casey. "We don't want you wasting away to skin and bones before he comes, now do we?" 

She seemed to be waiting for a reply again, so Casey shook her head no. But she really wanted to ask:  _Before who comes?_

After the tray was set up, Patricia turned the plate clockwise until the cut of the sandwich was parallel to the sides of the tray. Once satisfied with the arrangement, she took a few steps back and clasped her hands together.

"I made it just for you. I added just a dash of paprika." Her rounded, muscular shoulders rose in a cute shrug, and she winked, as though quite pleased with that little addition.

When Casey wouldn't respond, only staring open-mouthed as her mind raced for answers, Patricia sighed and said, "Calm yourself and eat. _I'm_ not going to hurt you. Is it Dennis? Is that it? Has he upset you?"

No response Casey thought of seemed right; no words could express why she was upset if he...Patricia...whoever he was...couldn't already see it.

"Now, now," Patricia murmured soothingly, and stepped forward to lightly touch Casey's shoulders before the girl flinched and pressed farther back against the wall. "Ssh-sh-sh-sh-sh. It's alright," she hushed her in a matronly sort of way. "He _can_  be a bit brusque." She raised a single eyebrow and whispered a little more softly, "You know, he's not well."

Casey nodded as if she understood. 

"But don't worry. I'll talk to him. He listens to me. I'll make sure he remembers what you're really here for." Patricia pursed her lips in a quaint sort of expression, and with no more explanation than that, she began to back out of the room, keeping her scrutinizing gaze trained on Casey the entire time until the door closed.

Finally alone again, Casey slouched onto the bed, feeling weak in the knees. What was his game? 

She didn't have an appetite, but her stomach declared in a low grumble that it was quite empty, so she knew she needed to eat what was offered. She forced herself to choke down what she could of the meatless sandwich, comprised of cheddar, mayonnaise, and apparently a bit of paprika, all on white bread. 

While she ate, she kept thinking about what she had heard in that conversation he held with himself. What did he mean by calling her impure? And who was coming? Was this all related to some kind of religious cult?

When she finished, she realized that the grocery sack the man brought in earlier was still sitting in the floor, and she got up to investigate its contents. Inside were eight liter bottles of water. Enough to keep her hydrated and alive if he planned on leaving her in here for days at a time.

But if what she heard was right, the man did not intend for her to ever leave again, and Casey realized she might never make it out of here alive. 

 

X X X X X

 

The man came back within the hour to retrieve the tray and her empty plate. He was dressed as Dennis again, as the one his second persona, Patricia, had called the first one. He frowned at the uneaten crust of bread she'd left behind, but without a single comment, he took her dishes away.

At first, Casey thought he was going to leave her alone for a while. Her muscles had barely begun to relax when the door opened again, and she immediately tensed back up. He headed right toward her.

She shrank away from him as he drew near, edging herself back on the mattress until, once more, her back was pressed firmly against the rough stone wall behind her.

 _This is it._ She knew it. This was the moment it would begin. And she had _just_ gone to the bathroom, so her bladder was empty. Peeing on herself was one tactic she had learned over the years, and she figured it would work to repel someone as committed to cleanliness as Dennis seemed to be, but it was impossible just now. She mentally cursed at herself for wasting one of the only defenses she had in this situation.

But instead of moving to grab her or get on the bed, Dennis pocketed his hands and stood awkwardly and quietly, considering his next words. He didn't face her directly when he cleared his throat and spoke again, low and strained.

"Patricia reminded me that she sent me to get you for a reason. That you're just..." He screwed his face into a conflicted sort of expression and stared at the floor. "Sacred food." He paused. "I don't mean to frighten you."

The implication of calling her 'sacred food' was just as frightening as it was confusing.

"Patricia said I scare people because of the way I am. I know I'm not..." When he looked into her peculiarly large and lovely dark eyes, which were filling with tears all over again, Dennis's voice began to trail off, as though he'd lost his words or just wasn't sure how to continue. The tips of his ears flushed pink. "I promise...not to touch you."

As he looked over her slender body, he suddenly flinched, bringing one of his hands out from his pockets to rub nervously over his head, and he looked down at his feet.

"Your shirt. You got crumbs all over it. It's dirty." He let out a sort of groan, a stuttering rasp from deep inside his throat, then he commanded her plainly and clearly: "Remove it."

_This is why I'm really here._

She knew better than to refuse his request, because then he would probably take it off by force, even though he only just promised not to touch her.

After all, hadn't Uncle John promised a hundred times that he would stop? That he was sorry? That he loved her? But the longest he'd ever managed to keep his hands away from her was little more than a few months at a time.

So promises meant nothing to Casey anymore.

Her fingers were trembling as she moved to take her flannel off, button by button. She could feel Dennis's gaze on her again as she uncovered yet another top beneath it, a black zippered hoodie. She'd never felt so thankful for the many layers of clothing she always wore, even in the hottest months of the year.

She was still shaking when she handed him her shirt, terrified that he might grab her wrist and pull her towards him or tell her to take off more.

But to her surprise, instead of stepping even another inch forward, he reached for the offending article across the distance between them. Once he had folded it neatly over on itself at least twice to contain the crumbs and then clutched it in his hand, he straightened again.

That was when his brilliant blue eyes locked onto hers, and peculiar tingles ran up her spine.

He took several steps back suddenly and broke their quick but intense gaze. "I'm trying to be good."

 

_[Everyone Likes Oranges - Abel Korzeniowski](https://youtu.be/vPFBCJ1T6OU) (I think of this as Dennis's theme)_


	4. Blues Wrapped Around My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey meets a third personality and begins to realize more about her abductor.

 

Casey drifted in and out of sleep as a way to pass the time. Occasionally, she'd get up to drink more water or use the bathroom when her "emergency reserve" grew to be too much of a strain on her bladder.

Without her messenger bag, she didn't have her sketchbook or phone to keep her overactive mind occupied.

Every now and then, she take a nervous turn around the perimeter of the small room. Other times, the anxiety and the feeling of being trapped was far too overwhelming, and she'd panic until she could remind herself to do her breathing exercise.

Deep down, she knew the wisest thing now was to try to stay as calm as she could. If he was still around, her father would want her to be smart and cautious with a focus on doing what it took to stay alive for him. she needed to remain as calm as possible and keep her head clear. She needed to be smart like a doe, cautious and clever, focused on staying alive.

 _"See, females are smarter than males,"_ she remembered her father telling her about deer on one of their first hunting trips together. _"But you know that already,"_ he said with a smile. _"They use their wits and their noses to stay covered. They know what they have to do to protect themselves. But the bucks are more interested in finding a mate, so they go off by themselves. They're not as wary of what's around them, so they're easier to spot."_

 _"Boys make too much noise,"_ she giggled. _"Are you glad I'm not a boy, Daddy?"_

 _"You know it, Casey-Bear._ _I wouldn't trade you for anyone or anything else in the whole world."_

Even over a decade later, Casey can still remember what it looked like to see love inside her father's eyes.

There was no real way for her to know the exact passage of time aside from the regular meals the man brought to her twice a day. Breakfast and dinner.

Most of the time, Patricia was the personality he assumed to deliver her food. Patricia was always polite, but the peculiar undercurrent in her every action and word unnerved Casey.

Other times, Dennis came, although he hadn't said more than a few words to her since their last awkward face-to-face a few nights ago when he'd taken her shirt.

He frightened Casey, but in an entirely different way than Patricia, and she couldn't explain it even to herself if she'd tried.

With little else to keep her mind busy, she wondered where he went when she couldn't hear him in the place where he kept her. She wondered if this was his home. Perhaps he had a job that kept him gone from the time he took her breakfast dishes until it was time for dinner. She had no way to know for sure, but it had to be a possibility. He was in his twenties at least, and he didn't seem the type to be independently wealthy.

He was gone for hours at a time, but he always came back. She knew when she heard the jangling of the keys on his large key ring and the outside door opening. Then the lamp light would appear in the crack beneath the thin door adjoining their rooms, and sometimes she would hear the tapping of his fingers on a computer keyboard long after he'd taken away her dinner dishes in the night.

That particular evening, she heard the strong vibration of a cell phone going off in the next room. When he answered, he spoke in a new accent than before, almost flamboyant and with northeastern flair.

"Oh, I'm fine! Just fine. Everything's fantastic," Casey heard the man say as he unlocked the outer door to go. "I didn't mean to bother you with another email, Dr. Fletcher. Well, I know it doesn't _bother_ you, but yeah. Yeah, I promise everything's fine. Dennis has it all under control. I just get anxious sometimes, that's all. The usual stuff we've talked about. Garden-variety issues..."

Casey briefly considered screaming out for help before he left, if only she had known for certain that she would be heard, and that whoever it was on the other end of the line could help her. She was far too cautious to take the chance. Though she didn't fear his physical retaliation as much as she had when she'd first been brought here however many days ago, she knew his behavior toward her could change at any time. People, in general, were not to be trusted, as far as Casey was concerned. And after all, he'd brought her here for _some_ strange reason, and it wasn't to be best friends, that much was certain. 

After all, he'd called her "sacred food." She shuddered to think of those words as the man walked out of the outer room, and his words faded to nothing when the door shut behind him.

Hours later after the phone call, he came back to his room, and the sound of his jangling keys easily woke Casey up from her light. She tensed, lying in wait, and listened closely to see if he would come for her tonight. But thankfully he never did.

He stayed up for a while before Casey heard the now familiar creak of his body settling onto where he sometimes slept at night, which she assumed was another small bed or a couch.

She stayed completely still and waited for him to fall asleep before she could allow herself to relax again, but then she heard something entirely different. She told herself she had to be mistaken, but it sounded as if the man had begun to cry.

After another minute of soft, strained mewls and quiet sniffles, it was unmistakable. He was absolutely crying. Then he let out of a few expletives at himself, like he was angry at himself for his own emotions. It was Dennis.

When everything fell silent in the darkened room next door, Casey assumed he had fallen asleep. Well, sleep no longer felt like a possibility for her now. Not after hearing all that.

The sound of Dennis crying struck her heart harder than she felt it should have. He was her abductor. He was probably demented or something, she reminded herself. But those soft, pitiful sobs in the darkness...and the way he gruffly cursed at himself through his tears...it just wouldn't leave her head.

She tossed and turned, unable to calm her thoughts. Eventually, she got up to use the bathroom again. There, she stared at her reflection in the oval mirror over the sink. Her face was growing more pale, and her cherry-colored lips were entirely devoid of any expression. Her dark locks hung loosely to the middle of her back, slightly tangled, and the roots were greasy after going days without bathing. She had access to a shower, of course, but she didn't feel comfortable taking off her clothes or being vulnerable and naked when the man could easily unlock her door anytime he pleased. And she figured that if she stayed dirty, it would be another good defense, because Dennis didn't seem the type to touch an unwashed body. Not even a slovenly man like Uncle John could get past that sometimes. So this certainly wasn't the first time in her life to skip showers.

She closed her eyes, remembering the sorrowful expression on his face and the stuttering, timid sort of way he had spoken to her before.

A sudden rapping on her door forced her out of her thoughts, and in the mirror, she could see her own fear reflecting back at her. He had never bothered to knock before.

A few seconds went by, and then there it was again: a childish "shave-and-a-haircut" rhythm tapped out on the wood.

Then a lisping voice rang out from the other side. "Uh, hello! You're supposed to say, 'Who's there?'"

He knocked again, the same pattern as before. "Knock knock!"

 _Is this some kind of game?_ It was clear he wanted her to play along. She walked out of the bathroom slowly, staring at the door the whole time. She could see the shadow of two feet in the crack beneath the door. The light was back on in his room.

Casey found her voice and weakly said, "Who's there?"

"H!"

"H who?"

"Bless you!" he spouted and then laughed like his lame joke was the funniest in the world.

The door opened then, and there he was, dressed differently this time in a blue and yellow tracksuit and bright white sneakers. Though the situation seemed almost silly, she was completely intimidated by the silhouette of his brawny figure in the column of light streaming in behind him through the open door.

"You didn't laugh!" he said, still grinning. "Don't you get it? H who? Achoo! Like you sneezed."

Casey's heart was pounding now, but she forced a smile along with the most fake-sounding laugh she'd ever uttered in her life.

That seemed to appease him though. He squatted down and sat cross-legged in the doorway, observing her with new curiosity, a mischievous expression on his face.

From her vantage point where she stood, she could see the room behind him and tried to take in all she could about its details as nonchalantly as possible. She needed to find out what sort of place this was, where he was keeping her, and how difficult it might be to get away. There was the red rug she'd spied through the crack in the door before, a few dark wood shelves on the far wall, and most importantly, she could see the other door she always heard him going in and out of to leave: a gray metal one with a shiny silver knob and a matching deadbolt lock.

Whatever lay beyond was a step closer to freedom, but it would almost certainly be locked. He always used his keys when he entered and exited the exterior room.

 _Maybe he has the keys right now in his pockets,_ she thought.

"But my name _does_ begin with an H," he said. "Guess what it is!"

She cautiously sat down on the end of the bed to face him. After Dennis and Patricia, she had no idea. "I don't know. Harry?"

"Uh-uh." He childishly shook his head and bit his lip to keep from grinning too widely.

She took a minute to think of any other names beginning with H. She knew she'd never guess it right. "Howard."

"Nope! You're so wrong!" he crowed. "Hedwig!"

"Hedwig," Casey repeated, confused.

"And I know something _you_ don't know."

"What is it?"

"Someone's comin' for you," he lisped.

Casey leaned forward on the bed, and the springs of the thin mattress squeaked in response to the shifting of her slight weight. "Who?" she nearly whispered. Maybe he would finally tell her what this was all about.

"You know, you make a lotta noises in your sleep."

So he'd been in her bedroom before while she was sleeping, watching her, listening to her without her even waking. The realization was chilling. "Please tell me. Who's coming?"

He shrugged. "I'm not supposed to say."

Everything about this interaction was entirely different than when dealing with his other personas.

"How old are you?" She tried to sound as calm as possible.

"Nine. I have red socks," he added, like this was also an important point for her to know. He seemed to believe what he said. And he certainly acted like a nine-year-old might.

"So you're...not the guy who took me?" Casey carefully asked.

"I can't drive, silly," said Hedwig, rolling his eyes.

"And you're not the one who brings me food?"

"What, are you blind?" he scoffed.

Casey realized there was definitely more at play here than a man simply acting or trying to terrorize her. Why had she not seen it before? She remembered reading something about a disorder where a person could develop more than one personality. She had stumbled across it online when researching symptoms of abuse. Then the name of it came to her: _Dissociative Identity Disorder._ Multiple personalities...

If she remembered right, the alternate identities could sometimes develop as a coping mechanism. So, Dennis was one, Patricia was another, and now there was this third identity, Hedwig. A child.

"So," Casey paused. "You don't know what they're thinking?"

"Mm, they don't tell me much. But sometimes Miss Patricia sings to me, and Mr. Dennis takes care of me and reads me stories."

"That's...cool." She knew she wasn't very good at this, but she was trying. "Hedwig, can you tell me where we are?"

He let out an exaggerated sigh. "You ask too many questions!" He flapped his crossed legs like impotent wings against the floor, already growing bored. "I had a hot dog for lunch. Do you like hot dogs?"

"Please, can you help me?" She felt more desperate with every passing second. Maybe she could coax him to tell her how to get out as long as the other identities remained unaware.

He shook his head. "I'm not even s'posed to be here. I stole the light from Mr. Dennis while he was asleep so I could come meet you, but if I take it for too long, Miss Patricia might find out and get mad at me. Et cetera!" With that, he stood and abruptly said, "Bye!"

"Wait!" Casey pleaded, and he froze. "You must be...really something to outwit someone as clever and strong as Dennis." Peppering him with compliments might be a way to get him to trust her.

"Wellll..." He drew out the word and squatted back down. "Maybe so."

"I can tell you are." She was trying so hard to control the quivering in her voice. She was so close; she could feel it. This might be her chance. "You're different from them, aren't you, Hedwig?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm different than all the rest!" Casey wondered just how many other personalities the man had. "See, all of us sit in our chairs in a room, and we take turns in the light, but Mr. Dennis gets it most of the time, 'cause he takes care of all of us." She assumed he was talking about which identity could be at the forefront, the one presenting. "But I'm the only one that has the power to keep the others out of the light. And I can take it for myself any time I want, and everyone else just has to keep sitting in their chairs if I want 'em to." He sounded so pleased with himself. "But I'm not s'posed to do that anymore. 'Specially lately." Without warning, his eyes began to water a little. "Miss Patricia gets real mad at me. She didn't used to. But now, she says...that I'm stupid. That I make stupid mistakes. She used to like me, but now she's worse than everybody else. Only one who likes me is Mr. Dennis."

Casey knew what it was like to be different and ostracized. But now was not the time to begin identifying with her captor, no matter how innocent the current personality seemed.

"I'm sorry, Hedwig," she said, and she was surprised that she actually sort of meant it. She took a breath and chewed the inside of her cheek.

"Mm." His tone became a bit dismissive, like he was embarrassed. He shrugged again and wiped the tears from his eyes before they could fall. "Miss Patricia told me a secret though. She says if I help her and Mr. Dennis by keeping the others out o' the light, then the Beast can come, and no one will ever make fun of me again."

"Wow," she declared, humoring him. It was more than she could absorb, but she was trying so hard to understand.

"Yeah," he said, obviously proud and excited.

"Do you like secrets?"

He nodded vigorously, and a little rush of delight lit up the youthful expression on his face.  _Dennis's face._ Why could she not get that thought out of her head? It had only been an hour or more ago that she had heard him crying, and it was still fresh in her memory.

"Do you want me to tell you a secret?" Casey continued.

"Uh-huh!"

"Come here, and I'll whisper it to you."

Hedwig flushed pink and hung his head bashfully, although he was still beaming. "Okay!"

His white sneakers squeaked loudly on the floor with each step as he waddled over, still squatting, and Casey got down to sit in front of the bed.

As he moved away from the door, she looked closely at his pocket and listened for any sounds of the keys, but there was nothing that she could detect.

"Are you ready?" she asked, and he nodded again, practically bursting with excitement. She hoped he couldn't see how frightened she was as she leaned in, being this close to him, even though he seemed so harmless just now.

Then she caught the scent of Dennis's cologne on his neck, clean and warm. She tried to stifle the odd feeling in her belly and ignore the way his stubbly cheek barely brushed against her face as she whispered, "I think you're pretty special."

"Whaaat?" When he drew back to look her in the face, he seemed more affected by her words than she could have guessed he might be. His innocent blue eyes were wide, and he seemed hopeful and incredulous at the same time...as though he'd never been told by anyone that he was special. He pressed his rosy lips together to hide his growing smile. "You fibber."

"I'm not lying," she said, even though her conscience pricked at her. "I think you're great! And if you help me get away, I could be like your babysitter. I'd take care of you and fix you hot dogs and... _all_ your favorite foods."

"You would do that?" He seemed amazed, and she knew she needed to sway him while she had his attention.

"I would! And I'd sing to you like Miss Patricia and read you bedtime stories too."

"You like to sing? Do you like to dance too? I like dancing."

"I do," responded Casey, thinking quickly. "And I'd be nice to you. I don't think Patricia knows how special you really are," she pressed. "I don't think you make stupid mistakes. I think...I think you seem really smart. And if you help me get out of here before anything bad happens to me, then maybe I could take care of you. And no one would make fun of you while I'm around."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah," she affirmed. "But we need to get away right now, before they come back. You don't want me to get hurt, do you?"

"No way!"

"Okay, then let's get out of here."

"I'd get in so much trouble..." Despite his misgivings, Hedwig seemed to be considering her request seriously, and for the first time since she'd come here, Casey had hope that her plan just might work. He bit at his bottom lip a little longer before finally replying, "No, I can't. They might take the light away from me for good." He stood up suddenly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I gotta go."

"Wait!" She got on her knees, begging him. "Please!"

"See ya!" he spouted, and before she could say another word, the wooden door clapped shut behind him.

Casey let out a defeated sob and fell forward onto her hands. How much time did she have left before the one they called the Beast came for her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading and letting me know you still like the story. It means more than I can say. 
> 
> I really have such a soft spot in my heart for Hedwig (much like Dennis, obviously). He's definitely entertaining and mischievous, but there's so much sadness inside him too.
> 
> Also to clarify - in my alternate canon story, Dennis is the primary personality and the one mainly in the light. He's holding down the full-time job and taking care of the others in the role of the protector and the strongest of all five alters (Barry, Hedwig, Patricia, Orwell,and Dennis), and he's never been banished from the light as he was in the movie, although Patricia was banished for increasingly becoming more religiously fanatic about the Beast as well as slowly evolving from a caretaker role to a more abusive alter that resembles Kevin Crumb's mother.
> 
> P.S. The titles of every other chapter are taken from Bob Dylan songs (which represent Casey's father's influence) and the Smiths (representing Casey's mother).


	5. There's Sadness in Your Beautiful Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey and Dennis interact again.

 

Story Soundtrack: [Chloe - Dan Jones](https://youtu.be/DSK1MQPodkI) (On Chesil Beach)

After a long night of quiet tears falling and her last bits of hope for escape beginning to dwindle away, Casey awoke from the little sleep granted to her by the sound of her door opening. She shot up defensively and plastered herself against the wall until her eyes adjusted to the light streaming in from the opposite room. Dennis had come to bring her breakfast.

Although Casey remained wary of him, she somehow felt a little relieved to see him instead of Patricia. She got up from the bed and stood with her arms across her chest and her back still firmly against the wall, but she didn't escape to the corner of the room as she had the past few days.

If Dennis noticed, he said nothing. Instead, he kept silent and aloof, avoiding all eye contact with her, and busied himself with cleaning off the tray. He used a lemon-scented disinfecting wipe that he'd extracted from a sealed baggie in his jacket pocket.

As he worked, Casey took the opportunity to observe him more closely. The first thing she noticed was the key ring dangling from a green carabiner attached to his belt loop. He was dressed as neatly as ever: his typical black collared shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck, matching pants, belt, and shoes, and a wide-collared, uniform-like gray jacket, which was also buttoned as far as it would go.

Dennis carefully set the plate down in the center of the tray, and Casey could see that in addition to a hearty breakfast of cheese-topped scrambled eggs and buttered toast, he'd also brought her another plate of snacks: a good-sized helping of cheese in five thick square slices, along with exactly five round crackers, a perfect dollop of peanut butter, and an assortment of cut fruit and raw vegetables, all arranged evenly on the dish.

It didn't escape her attention that when Dennis brought her food, it was always more nourishing and in larger quantities than Patricia ever offered. Anything was preferable over her cruelly plain sandwiches, but this morning's meal was practically a feast in comparison. It would be more than enough to last her until he brought her an evening meal.

He removed the flawless smooth plastic wrap that covered the plate and crumpled it into a compact ball, which he pocketed with his left and most dominant hand. After looking over the tray one last time to make sure everything on it was perfect, he moved to leave without a word of acknowledgement to Casey.

Just as he reached the door, she felt herself calling out to him almost before she was conscious of it. "Dennis?"

He froze. It was the first time she had ever said his name aloud to him.

She hadn't intended to say anything at all, but more words tumbled from her tongue. "I just wanted to...thank you."

Dennis stayed quiet for a moment, keeping his entire body still and his face trained on the exit. Then in his bearish, low voice, he replied, "You shouldn't thank me for _any_ thing."

All things considered, he was right, but that didn't stop her. "Maybe. But at least you feed me. That's something to thank you for."

Casey could still remember the terrible feeling of an empty stomach on days when Uncle John would punish her by not feeding her or giving her money for lunches at school. That was the least of the many reasons why he was never a suitable guardian for her, and none of those reasons would ever be forgotten. Everything he'd done had built her, bit by bit, into the intentionally unapproachable loner she'd become over the years.

Now she was entirely dependent on Dennis's mercy, and she knew that. Although he was right that he didn't deserve any gratitude, she still felt that even he needed to know that she appreciated his unusual kindness in this terrible and peculiar situation.

"Why are you so...?" Dennis stopped himself from finishing his own sentence. He always seemed to hold himself back, as though he were afraid that any word could be the wrong one or that any lapse of control over himself might make him vulnerable.

He sighed and turned his right wrist up briefly to look at the silver watch half-hidden beneath his sleeve.

"I've got to go now," he declared.

Casey didn't mind his awkwardness so much. After all, she felt pretty awkward too in her own way. And even though his manner and his obsessive need for cleanliness were different, she found she didn't really mind that much either. So why did she mind that he wouldn't turn to face her now? Usually, she was the one avoiding contact with others.

"Please," she said softly. "It's just...I'm out of water now." Suddenly, she felt guilty for asking for anything. "But I can just drink from the faucet."

"Don't! Don't do that. There's contaminants in tap water. It's not safe," he said, and he began to roughly stroke a hand over his prickly short brown hair. It was a common tendency, it seemed, when he became agitated. "I should have checked. That was thoughtless. Careless. I should have remembered."

From the start, Casey believed this man was a monster, and what he'd done by kidnapping her and bringing her here to this dark prison should make him one still. And yet, he had not laid a single finger on her since, and he hadn't hurt her yet. Half the time, he wouldn't even look at her. It was like he was frightened of something about her...or maybe frightened of himself.

He rubbed both hands over his eyes, and it became suddenly obvious to Casey how much he was struggling internally. An intensity seemed to burn inside him that he constantly attempted to keep under control, as though the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders alone. And after what she had heard last night, the grief he'd released under the safe cover of darkness, she recognized that he carried more pain than he allowed himself to show. She recognized it because it was almost a mirror of the shield over her own heavy heart.

"It's okay," she found herself saying to try and calm him.

"No, it's not!" he snapped suddenly, and Casey jerked back, startled. "Nothing about this is okay. Nothing! Don't you see that? Don't you -" That's when he turned to her, and when their eyes, earth and sky, met again, he finished in a muted tone. "- see...see what I am?"

The left side of his face was illuminated in the glow from the bathroom light, accentuating his features and shadowing the gentle angles of his cheekbones, the unique shape of his nose, and his rose-colored lips, which were flanked by soft lines on each side. Casey could see the muscles of his jaw flex, and his brows rose, almost imperceptibly, but just enough to diminish his wrinkles of concern.

When his gaze drifted down to her slightly parted lips, he seemed almost unaware of the way his feet began to move, bringing him closer to her.

She was already against the wall, but she wouldn't have backed away this time even if she had room. Her breath hitched in her throat as she watched him approach, and her belly felt almost electrified, light, and nervous.

"I'm sorry," he said then, ever so gently.

Casey remembered that those were the first words he'd ever said to her. She couldn't summon any response for him. Her plump lower lip trembled a bit. 

"I really am," he told her. His hands fell to his sides, and his left thumb rubbed lightly against the fabric of his pants there. He took another step toward her, this one more deliberate.

Not counting when she'd whispered to Hedwig last night, this was the closest they had ever been, now only a few feet apart. Her heart was beating so hard, she was sure he could see her chest shaking.

"I scare you," Dennis realized aloud, and almost immediately, he backed away. His usual hardened expression was back in an instant, and the shield he'd let down for only a moment was clearly back up. "I'll go now." Now he was looking anywhere but at her.

Casey wanted to say something, anything, but she was left speechless.

"I'll make sure you have more clean water by tonight."

And with that, he paced out of the room, and the space he left behind seemed more hollow than before somehow.

 

Story Soundtrack: ["The Radiant City" - Johann Johannsson](https://youtu.be/9wB4StI4oNE)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just kept thinking of the way Dennis's facial expressions shifted when Dr. Fletcher told him "You are not evil to me" in the movie during that scene. I feel like that's the way he looks at Casey.


	6. Ice Water in My Veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patricia invites Casey to a homemade dinner and a little chat.

It must have been hours, at least half the day, before Casey heard him return. She had been lying on the floor, staring up at the drywalled ceiling and counting the nail heads to distract herself from her thoughts after the morning's encounter with Dennis when she heard an intense argument continuing as the man entered the other room...as both Dennis _and_ Patricia this time.

"But if we go through with this, then how are we any better than —"

"Than the impure? There's no comparison," Patricia retorted. "You're acting as if she's some innocent child. Well, she's _not_ a child. She's practically a grown woman."

"I know she's...I know that."

There was a long pause. "Oh, _that's_ what this is about. You _want_ her. You want her for yourself."

Casey felt weak.

"That's not...that's not it." He was stumbling over his words now, growing more and more flustered. "That's not what this is about."

"Don't I know you better than anyone else?" Dennis didn't answer, so she continued, "You're only deluding yourself to think she could _ever_ care for you. She'sfrightened of you. Everyone's frightened of you because they can tell you're different. Broken."

"I'm not —"

"Yes, you are. We _all_ are. The impure just think we're crazy. They don't even believe we all exist, and that girl in there is no different. No one is capable of loving you as I do. And no one can protect us like the Beast once he comes."

Casey was trembling now. She was terrified by the mere mention of the one they called the Beast and surprisingly saddened at the way Patricia spoke to Dennis. What happened to him to make any one of his identities think or say such things? Still, deep down, she had to admit to herself that those feelings of being different and unlovable were not all that unfamiliar.

Broken. That's what she was. Casey had begun to believe that no one else would ever understand or relate to her damage.

"I just don't understand anymore. If the Beast is our savior, then why does he need to...?"

"What?" Patricia snapped.

"I just don't want her to get hurt."

It wasn't fear alone that made Casey's pulse begin to quicken. The same feeling coursed through her now that had begun that morning when he'd stepped toward her, looking so intensely into her eyes.

"The deed is as good as done, Dennis. You've already brought her here."

"Couldn't we just...? We could let her go before he comes."

"You're being ridiculous!" Patricia could go from syrupy sweet to absolutely venomous in an instant. "Do you think we can just let her waltz out of here? She'd go to the police. You would lose your job. Everything you've worked so hard to achieve for Kevin."

"But —"

"She knows your face! Have you completely lost your sense? She could ruin _everything_. Is that what you want? Do you want to go to prison for what you've done?"

"I took her because you told me it had to be done. I believed you."

"And you should believe me still, for the Beast _is_ coming. Make no mistake. And he will be grateful for the girl we have waiting for him. She's insignificant. She's nothing," snapped Patricia. "You were the only one who listened to me and truly believed in what we could become. Why do you doubt me now? How can just a few minutes around her make you so _weak_?"

"Just stop. Please?"

"You know you could never have her. You scare her. You  _disgust_  her!"

 

_Story Soundtrack:["Buried Memory" Dan Jones (On Chesil Beach)](https://youtu.be/MnHwYRTiJ18)_

 

"Please..." he begged in that deep, lonely voice. "Please stop." He was utterly crushed.

Casey wished she could make Patricia stop, but she was helpless. Even more helpless to understand why she should even care.

"You remember what it feels like," Patricia pressed.

"Stop," he repeated, clearly overcome. He was exhaling heavily through his nose again.

"Don't you remember the guilt, the shame Kevin's mother made you feel?"

His tone was suddenly empty and full at the same time as he replied in almost a whisper, "I remember everything."

Casey knew it now. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. He had been hurt too...just like her.

"I know it _feels_ like you want her, dearest, but she's just like all the others. She would ruin you. She'd make you feel just as dirty and ashamed."

"It's not...it's not about  _that_. There's something _different_  about her."

"Oh, it's absolutely about _that,_ " Patricia hissed. "That's all you men ever think about. You think she's beautiful, so you're giving in to your baser instincts. Your filthy desires are making you weak, telling you something entirely untrue about what and who she is."

"Please stop. Just stop saying these things."

"I'm sorry, darling." Her tone switched to comforting and motherly again. "Truly, I am. You've taken on more pain than anyone should ever have to experience in one lifetime. But you're still standing. Kevin is still alive. You kept us _all_ alive. You were so strong when none of us could bear it. Don't let an insignificant little quim make you _weak!_ "

"Stop talking like that, God damn it!" There was a loud crash like breaking glass shattering against the wall, and Casey jerked back with a gasp. Dennis had unleashed his rage, and in the aftermath, he was immediately despondent, repeating in a thin whisper, "God damn it."

"I only say these things because you need to hear them. You need to be reminded so you don't get hurt...No, dear, don't try to clean that up. Not with your bare hands. You'll cut yourself. Go back to your chair. I'll handle feeding her tonight."

"You won't hurt her." Casey wondered if Dennis meant to ask Patricia or tell her, because his words came out so gruff.

"Dennis," Patricia said, sounding wounded. "Why should _I_ wish to hurt the girl? Dearest, please. Go back to your chair and calm yourself. I'll take care of this mess."

Casey was already back on her bed and pretending she'd heard nothing when Patricia came in.

Patricia's muscular body was concealed beneath a form-fitting pink turtleneck, a long skirt and heels, and a matronly beige woolen shawl around her shoulders as she approached with another grocery bag, which Casey was sure contained the water that Dennis had promised her. She also held a hairbrush in the other hand.

"I thought," Patricia said in that feminine, subdued way as she set the sack at the wall, "we might take some time tonight to get to know one another, just us girls." She projected the same charming demeanor as usual, but Casey had seen the ugliness behind that facade now, and now all she could feel was a sharp chill in the air between them.

"Okay," Casey said a little nervously.

"Aren't you lovely?" Patricia crooned and reached up to touch Casey's face, barely brushing the backs of her knuckles against the smooth skin of her cheek.

 _Dennis's hand,_ Casey thought, slightly shivering at the soft touch.

"Why don't I brush your hair? You've got tangles," she murmured and used her hand to turn Casey's head a little more forcefully. "You haven't been taking care of yourself, have you? Mm-mm," she said in her quaint manner, shaking her head. "That just won't do."

Casey obligingly turned to allow Patricia to work the bristle brush through her long chestnut hair, starting at the ends and working her way up. She tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, and she sat up a little straighter in Patricia's exacting presence.

After a few minutes of silence between them, with the only sounds coming from the brush running through Casey's hair, Patricia spoke again, "I understand you met Hedwig."

Stiffly, Casey nodded her head. A lump had formed in her throat.

"Hmm," Patricia let out a note of interest in her eccentric, melodic way, and that was all that was said of that.

When she was done brushing Casey's hair until it shone in the low light, she spoke again. "You know, I think you'd look perfect for his arrival with a pretty flower to put in your hair. To show him how important you are. Don't you agree?"

Casey turned to Patricia with her dark eyes wide. "Please, can't you tell me what this is all about? Why am I here?"

"You needn't worry about that just now, dear. Did you know," she continued in that smooth, inoffensive tone, "that the meat of animals exposed to stress hormones before their death is said to taste worse _and_ have a negative effect on one's health?" She raised an eyebrow and smiled. "I thought that was a fun little fact."

Even though Patricia's manners were polite, what she said was more frightening than anything Casey had heard yet. And the way she spoke so casually, almost flippantly, about it...

"Now, now, let's not get upset," she told her in such a warm motherly way when she saw that Casey was shivering again. She wrapped her hands gently around Casey's, nearly eclipsing them with their size, and then she stood. "Why don't we take some tea, you and I? And I'll make you something nice for dinner. Would you like that? Then we can talk more in the kitchen...girl to girl."

Casey allowed herself to be led through the door, still in the grasp of Patricia's cool, dry hand.

As they passed into the room beyond, the space that Casey had wondered about for days, she looked around, taking it all in. There was the large red rug she'd seen before, which covered most of the exposed cement floor, and she could see broken glass in the corner...the jar or vase that Dennis had smashed against the wall in his earlier outburst.

"Don't mind that," Patricia told her. "Just a little accident, a mere slip of the hand."

Casey pretended to believe her. It was clear the man had done what he could to brighten and organize the space where he lived. Here, too, one wall was stone and mortar, and the rest were covered with drywall and plaster and freshly painted over with clean white. Wooden shelves hung on the wall above a dark brown couch, which was situated next to a modern-looking dark wood wardrobe. Across the room was a matching bookcase and desk in the far corner. A brown cork bulletin board was closeby, covered with pinned-up sketches of clothing and pages torn from fashion magazines, which she thought peculiar, but perhaps nothing was outside the range of her surprise at this point.

She watched as Patricia extracted the large key ring she'd seen hanging from Dennis's belt earlier from the deep pocket of her skirt. There had to be twenty or more keys on it, and she wasn't sure which one was used to unlock the main doorknob; they all looked so similar. Then with a simple twist of the securing deadbolt lock, they were out.

The hallway they entered was far different than the rooms from which they'd just come. A drab tan paint colored the walls, and the floor was an older, tiled linoleum. The entire way was lit by a long, narrow set of humming fluorescent lights that flickered above. There was a short set of stairs at one end of the hall, and the other end stopped abruptly with another wall, although she could see a turn ahead, just to the left. The layout of the place certainly wasn't typical of a house or apartment, and an uncommon earthy sort of odor barely tinged the hallway air.

"Now," Patricia said, letting go of her hand and gesturing at one of the two wooden chairs at the rickety table in the kitchen. "You sit there, and we'll have ourselves a proper meal."

The kitchen wasn't dirty, really. Just old and faded like the hallway. The walls had been painted years and years ago with the same dingy color as the hallway, and the refrigerator and oven were a vintage 1970s golden yellow.

"I know," Patricia said as she filled a kettle at the faucet. Apparently she didn't care quite as much as Dennis about tap water. "This must all seem so unsatisfactory for you, but we _are_ doing the best we can." Gracefully, she twirled from the sink to the stove and set the full teakettle on to boil.

Casey was surprised that Patricia would allow her to be out of the locked room for a change, but she figured it was because there was no real chance of escape. Certainly not when there was an obvious physical advantage over Casey's slim and clearly weaker body. Dennis had lifted her once like she weighed nothing. There was no fighting against that kind of strength, so she sat obediently in her chair and watched Patricia prepare their dinner.

"We'll have a salad," Patricia said over her shoulder. "And some delicious tomato soup. Won't that be nice?"

"Yes, ma'am," Casey said awkwardly. She couldn't forget the words Patricia had spoken to Dennis only moments ago, even though she was treating her so kindly just now. She stuffed her hands inside the long sleeves of her hoodie nervously as Patricia reached for the stereo on a shelf and turned on what sounded like traditional Chinese music.

"I read once that Asian music aids digestion," Patricia told her from over her shoulder.

Casey noted that the clock on the stereo read 7:16 PM.

While tossing salad greens in a large wooden bowl with olive oil, vinegar, a shake of herbs from the pantry, and a squirt of lemon juice, Patricia offered another bit of trivia. "Did you know," she said, "that a family of lions can eat over thirty-five pounds a day?" She turned and raised her brows with an expression of interest. "Hmm!"

Casey tried to come up with a similar fact as a way to find common ground between herself and this particular identity. "A buck can lose 30% of its weight during mating season chasing does around."

"They're crepuscular, right? Traveling around at dusk and dawn."

Casey nodded.

"Good for you," Patricia said, as if pleased, pointing at her with the tip of her knife before she began cutting up a carrot to top the salad.

Once the food was ready and the table was set with care, Patricia poured a cup of steaming water into two mugs and dipped the chamomile tea bags in to steep.

They ate mostly in silence, punctuated only occasionally by Patricia's over-enthusiastic "mm's" of pleasure as she enjoyed the meal.

When Casey got a little splash of soup on the front of her zippered hoodie, Patricia insisted in helping her take it off. "No need in bothering Dennis with it," she told her, folding and laying it aside on the countertop. "That sort of thing upsets him so."

Patricia sat back down at the table to finish her last few spoonfuls of her soup. "Do you know you're very pretty?"

Casey wasn't sure what else to say but "Thank you."

"Hedwig was certainly impressed by your little meeting. He seems to think you're _quite_ the interesting girl."

"He did?" Casey slowly reached for her cup of tea, careful not to make any sudden movements. She was fully aware of the sharp kitchen knife that Patricia kept at her side throughout the meal. Suddenly, she felt very exposed and vulnerable, even with her black tank and white henley long-sleeve shirt still on. She wasn't used to wearing so few layers.

"Yes, he did." Patricia suddenly dropped the spoon into the bowl with a jarring peal, which made Casey gasp and nearly drop her tea cup. "Apparently, you have quite the effect on males of _all_ ages, don't you?" she said with the usual melodic highs and lows in her soft voice. She waited for Casey to respond, her lips twitching a little as she tried to maintain her smile.

"I'm sorry?"

"I see it. They might not. Men never _do_ see things quite as clearly as we, do they? But _I_ see," Patricia continued, a little more shrewdly than before. "I see what you're doing."

"I don't know what you mean." Had Hedwig told her that she'd tried to get him to help her escape?

"Let's not play games. I don't wish to be needlessly cruel." Her expression grew stern. "But I will do anything and _every_ thing in my power to protect my boys."

"But I didn't mean to..."

" _Don't!"_ Patricia shouted and slammed the flat of her palm on the table so hard that all the dishes clattered. Casey shrank back. " _Don't_ interrupt when someone else is speaking. It's very rude."

"I'm sorry," Casey apologized, desperate to hold back her tears. She didn't want to reveal her fear but she was sure it was evident.

Patricia drew the knife up from the table and held it in her right hand, inspecting her reflection in the wide blade, then sighed and looked over at Casey again. "I have to keep all of my boys safe from people who want to harm them. Especially manipulative impure girls like you."

Casey wanted to tell her that she didn't want to manipulate or hurt anyone, but she wasn't about to test Patricia's explosive anger.

"Not that you'll have a chance to try to tempt them away from me. Your days, I'm afraid, are numbered, dear. You can't sway them now. You don't deserve their attention or their pity. They're _my_ boys. Kevin, Dennis, Hedwig, and Orwell...and my talented Barry, even though he thinks he's better off without me around." The pain was evident in her expression. "Even though I was there for them when they had _no_ one else in the world to turn to. Not a single soul in the world to save them from that horrible excuse of a mother. And poor Dennis took the brunt of all her wrath and perversion ever since he was only three years old."

Casey's stomach tightened. She felt sick at the thought. _Dennis..._

"He's sensitive, you know. He's really quite vulnerable. Yet he's the strongest of us all. He can take pain when Kevin cannot. But every time it was over, I was there. I was the one who comforted them all. I was the one who sang to them and tucked them in at night. Every moment they needed me, I was there."

Casey knew the gravity of what she was being told. She guessed Patricia's identity had evolved in place of a mother figure. She, too, knew what it was like to be motherless, to grieve for a lost father, to have no one to whom she could turn...no one left to protect her.

"I have taken care of all of them for a very...long...time." Patricia's fingers tightened around the handle of the knife until her knuckles were white. "Even when they decided I had to be banned from the light. Because they don't believe. Except for my Dennis...and Hedwig too, of course."

"I can tell they mean so much to you. I don't want to hurt anyone," Casey started, her eyes cautiously trained on the knife. "You seem like a good person. I just don't understand why you're keeping me here."

"I've tried to make it pleasant for you." Had she? "But you were chosen as the first of the impure for the Beast. What an honor! Your flesh will nourish the highest form of human evolution yet. I hope it calms you to know that."

_Story Soundtrack:[Last Rites - West Dylan Thordson](https://youtu.be/7v5maqa-Ysc)_

Anything but calm, Casey abruptly stood, knocking the chair over behind her, looking for a quick way out, but Patricia was faster. She backed Casey up to the fridge with no way to run and held the knife's sharp point right at her belly.

"Ssshh-sh-sh-sh," she whispered. "I know, dear, it's frightening. You've always been protected. You've always been asleep." There was a pause. "And you're trying to take my boys away from me."

Casey drew her stomach in, barely daring to breathe, and hot tears ran down her cheeks. She couldn't look at Patricia; she couldn't bare to see the rage on the face that she knew was shared with Dennis. She closed her eyes, trying to control her whimpers, waiting for the knife to cut through her shirt and into her stomach.

Instead, the threatening tone left Patricia's voice, and she said, "We've had our dinner and our tea, so I think it's time for you to return to your room for your last night. Now hold your hands together in contrition."

Casey clasped her hands just as directed, and together, they slowly walked back to her room.

"'In the sun, we will find our passion,'" Patricia recited dramatically once Casey was back and sitting again on her bed. "'In the sun, we will find our purpose.' You know, I read that on a sympathy card once in a supermarket. It was for a funeral, but I've always thought that was rather beautiful." She paused before closing the door, and said in a sympathetic sort of way: "It won't be long now, dear. It's almost over."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:  
> 1\. I wanted to change up some aspects of their living space from the movie set for the sake of the personalities and this is just my alternate canon.
> 
> 2\. I know Patricia seems evil, but I really want to explore WHY she is the way she is. I personally think it's the only way she knows how to keep them all safe, & my idea is that she evolved from the need for a mother figure. I don't agree with her actions, but I understand her motivations. Hope you'll enjoy how she evolves in my story and more revelations about where she started to go wrong in future chapters. 
> 
> 3\. While it's absolutely possible to experience far more identities with DID, according to my research, and the average is between 8 and 13, the number I picked is lower than in the movie but this felt like the right number for my story so I can devote plenty of time to the personalities and not let the narrative get too confusing.


	7. Don't Even Hear the Murmur of a Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: there is a very brief allusion to Casey's past sexual abuse in her memories.

_Story Soundtrack:[Danny - Olafur Arnalds](https://youtu.be/9TLVhqw8mOk) _

 

As soon as Patricia left, following what was the most frightening dinner Casey had ever sat through in her short life, the confined world around her began tightening and spinning. The windowless room was black as night, and she could just _feel_ the walls closing in on her. Panic was tightening its grip on her throat, and her heart beat out of control.

She was dying. She was sure of it.

Maybe she had a weak heart just like her father. Maybe the Beast would never even get his chance to kill her.

The Beast...the Beast was coming for her...

_"It's almost over..."_

A thousand terrible memories whirled inside her mind now. Rationally, she knew that the one monster who had haunted her since childhood couldn't reach her now, but her nerves were so on edge, it was as if he was right behind her, on the bed with her, touching her.

 _"Don't give me any trouble, now."_ Uncle John's voice echoed in her thoughts. Her skin crawled with the sense memory of his hands on her. _"It's almost over."_

She tried to control her desperate ragged breaths. Counting for each inhale and exhale barely helped at all this time. Her mind was too overwhelmed to even think straight. She just wanted to see the sun again.

 _I was so close to freedom_. Just when she was within reaching distance of graduation, a few weeks away from turning eighteen and finally being able to run away from the prison of her uncle's guardianship for good, she became a prisoner to someone else, decimating the last bit of hope she had left in the world.

Perhaps it didn't matter that she would die soon. Maybe her spirit had been killed long ago anyway. She told herself she no longer believed in God like her father had so devoutly all his life. She wondered what kind of God would let her mother die on the day she was born and let her father be cruelly taken from her too only six years later? What kind of God would let innocents suffer at the hands of monsters?

Despite her doubts, she found herself collapsing on her knees and praying out loud to make it out of this alive. If there was any benevolent God, maybe a quick death would grant her reunion with her dad again.

How she missed him and all their good memories...the nights they spent around a campfire looking up at the stars...listening to the story of how her parents first met...dancing to Bob Dylan songs together in the kitchen, her little feet balanced on his as he taught her how to two-step, shuffling around and laughing...

God, the hollow inside without someone there to love her and keep her safe was like a black hole in her heart, an endless void.

She crawled until she found the wall in the darkness and once there, she beat her palms against the stone and screamed again and again until her throat was raw and her hands were aching. When she'd released all of the pent-up energy her body held, she could only cling to the wall limply and weep.

"Are...are you alright?" A deep voice pulled her out of her meltdown, and she realized he was there again, standing in the doorway.

Casey jerked around in shock, her chest still heaving. It was Dennis; she could tell immediately.

How long had he been there in the other room? She hadn't even heard him return.

She dragged her sleeve over her face to wick away her tears. "Just a b-bad dream," she told him. "This is all just a bad dream."

After a moment of quietly considering her words, he crossed his arms, assuming a tougher stance. "Do you need...anything?"

From where she sat on the floor beside the bed, Casey couldn't see the expression on his face in the shadows, but unless she was mistaken, he actually seemed concerned.

"I need to get out of here," she boldly rasped out, swallowing back the lump in her scratchy throat.

Like her, he was breathing a little faster; his shoulders rose slightly with each inhale. More surprising than that, it looked like he was wearing some loose sweatpants and a black t-shirt that hugged close to his torso. Maybe his pajamas? Although it was impossible to see any details with the only light source rather dim behind him, she could tell that his forearms were bare for the first time in front of her, a pale contrast against the darkness of his shirt.

"I know," he surprised her by saying. "I just..."

He paused, and the silence and space between them buzzed with a new tension.

Feeling a little more brave, Casey stood to face him, tossing her hair back over her shoulder almost defiantly. Still, she knew he'd likely heard every word and scream during her breakdown only moments ago.

He wouldn't approach her, but he wasn't leaving either. He just stood there, watching without speaking, his face almost entirely obscured from her view.

 _What else do you want from me?_ she wanted to ask.

"If it's too dark, I can turn the bathroom light on for you," he offered. His tone seemed more gentle than before.

"I'm fine," she replied coldly, wondering why he would even say that.  _If he's so intent on making tonight the last one of my life, what does it matter to him?_ Without another word, she got into the bed beneath the covers and turned away from him.

She just wanted him to leave. Yet another part of her wanted to keep screaming, right in front of him. Or run at him and beat her hands against him, hurt him, let so completely loose on him that he might feel just a tiny bit of the fear that Patricia had instilled inside her earlier tonight. But she knew she was powerless here. Absolutely and utterly powerless, as always.

"Alright," Dennis muttered before turning to go.

Left alone once more when he slammed the door behind him, she began crying again almost immediately. This time, she didn't care if he heard her. After all, he didn't seem to care how scared she was.

Or maybe he did care, now that she remembered that tense fight he had with Patricia. But he wasn't doing anything about it. Maybe he was just playing games with her head.

She hated how he made her question every thought and feeling inside herself in the past few days.

Casey sobbed harder as she remembered the tenderness in his eyes that morning, when he'd looked at her so deeply, like they could almost see inside each other's souls. For the first time, she felt like she had connected with someone who might be like her and understand her. She could swear there was some semblance of goodness inside him.

Sometimes, she wondered if there was any goodness left inside her too though. After all, all she seemed able to do was avoid others, attract the wrong kind of attention, or purposefully get into trouble. But there had to be, simply because she was at least still able to feel and empathize. Her tender heart was just covered by multiple defensive layers, just like the layers of clothing she hid behind.

Well, right now, she was tired of hiding her pain. If these were her last hours, then she would rather let every bit of her sorrow out rather than pretend it wasn't there or push it away just to make her captor more comfortable. So Casey cried like she hadn't in years.

She could hear him in the other room, pacing back and forth like a tiger behind bars. Every now and then, through the blurriness of her tears, she could see the shadow of his feet pause at the crack underneath the door, as if he wanted to check on her again, but he never came back in.

Tears were still wet on her flushed cheeks when her brain and body finally gave in to intense exhaustion late in the night, and she finally fell asleep with her own arms wrapped tightly around her.

 


	8. I Know It's Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey plots her escape.

 

Story Soundtrack: [Turncoat - Goldmund](https://youtu.be/_DTmr7rXQmc)

 

 _It's bright in her dreams...a respite from the enclosed, stale space she can't escape. The sun is out, and_ _she can smell the sweetness of the honeysuckle vines that rapidly grew along the fence of her old backyard. And the tang of fresh-cut grass._

_Not this. I can't..._

_Casey is a little girl again, swinging on her swing-set, and her father is mowing the yard with his push mower. Scout is on the patio, watching them both and soaking up the sunlight._

_"Blue skies smilin' at me!" she sings out, practically shouting the words over the whir of the lawnmower, happily and childishly loud. She swings higher and higher, aiming for those giddy tickles in her belly...the kind Daddy said he felt the first time he saw her mother. "Nothing but blue skies do I see. Bluebirds singin' a song..."_

_The mower suddenly cuts off into silence, and Casey looks away from the sky above, the color of promise and hope, and she sees her father clutching at his chest. Everything is moving in slow motion around her. He's falling to his knees, and his face is contorting with pain._

_Even with her old arthritic joints, Scout is running to his side, fully aware something is wrong. Dead wrong. Casey follows too, hopping out of the moving swing and running as fast as her little legs can go._

_And he's crumpling forward, doubling over before rolling to his side on the grass._

_He's too young. Not now. Please not yet._

_"Daddy!"_

_He looks up at her, and she can see he's in pain. He's terrified._

_"Call 9-1-1, Casey," he breathes out, tension in his voice. "Fast, baby. It's gonna be okay."_

_She doesn't want to leave his side, but she obeys, and she's so breathless and frightened, the emergency services operator barely understands her at first._

_"They're coming right now, sweetie," the woman promises. "They'll be there soon." She asks her to stay on the line, but Casey has already dropped the phone._

_When she returns to her father's side, he's already leaving her. She grabs his hand and holds it, like she can keep him here if she just hangs on. But he's going away now...right before her eyes. Scout, his loyal companion for more than ten years, quietly lies down beside him, touching him with her whitened muzzle and whining._

_"Daddy, please!"_

_Her father's fingers loosen their grip on her hand, and the muscles of his face go slack, then his russet brown eyes, those warm, happy, loving eyes, go unfocused, staring but unseeing at the bright blue summer sky above._

_"Daddy, come back! Come back!"_

_She's lying next to his body, and it's so hot underneath the summer sun. She's still crying into his shoulder when she hears the siren of the ambulance coming down the block._

_Come back! Don't leave me!_

Casey awoke with a start, sweating beneath the quilt tucked around her body, to discover almost immediately that the door of her room was wide open.

The second realization came seconds after; the man had returned. And he was lying beside her, practically spooning right up against her.

How had she not known sooner? Normally, the slightest movement near Casey would immediately stir her from sleep into a panic...a learned reaction.

He was on top of the covers thankfully. Keeping her body as stiff as a board so as not to move the bed and wake him, she slightly swiveled her head to see him better. Gone were the pajama pants and t-shirt from earlier, and in their place, he was wearing a dark tracksuit with a white stripe down the sleeve and the side of his pant legs. She wasn't sure which alter was "in the light," until she saw those clean white sneakers he had on, and she assumed it must be Hedwig.

With the man so completely unaware and unguarded, this could be the last opportunity to get away, so, wasting no more time, she began to stealthily slide away from him on the mattress.

Then something pulled at her hair. She realized that Hedwig had a thick bunch of it clasped in his hand, which lay on his own shoulder near his face. She couldn't get away without waking him, although something told her he wasn't holding onto her hair as some sort of safeguard to keep her there. If he'd been worried about that, surely he would have just shut and locked the door.

There were so many conflicting feelings inside her about him now. Beyond her fear and suspicion of him, she had an utterly illogical impulse to stay there next to him, feeling what it was like to have his warm body so near. It was almost a comfort, and she despised herself for even thinking that way.

Casey had once assumed that _any_ body this close to her would always repulse and frighten her, but she didn't seem to feel that way just now. It was much different...a wanting sort of hollowness, a feeling not entirely unpleasant.

She paused a moment longer, gazing over at his slender, handsome face. It was a sight that almost made her forget that he was the reason she had been trapped in a sunless prison. His light brown lashes were closed, and his usual worry lines were erased as he dreamed. Nestled beside her like a contented, tired puppy, he seemed so peaceful with his delicate fingers wrapped in her dark hair. His wholly innocent expression drew out her pity for him. Perhaps that's all it was, that unusual feeling he gave her. Pity. But she couldn't let herself be deterred; this was no time to worry or wonder about him. She had to get away. Now.

After slowly slipping the length of her hair from his gentle hold, she began to shimmy across the mattress again as quietly as possible.

"Casey?" he lisped sleepily.

Her heart almost stopped in her chest. _Damn._

He sounded so wounded. "Were you tryin' to leave me?"

"No, not at all." She thought fast. "I'm just a little sore. I need to stretch."

"Oh, okay."

He believed her so easily. Casey's mind began to work faster, piecing together a plan in which she could use his gullibility to her advantage.

Just like a little boy, he energetically sat up and crossed his legs beneath him as he watched her. "What's wrong with you, anyway?"

 _Where to begin?,_ Casey cynically remarked to herself. Hedwig really didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation she was in now.

"You know, you kept Mr. Dennis up almost all night."

She cringed, shutting her swollen eyelids tight.

"He thought maybe you get scared of the dark like me! And I figured maybe it would help if I stayed with you so you wouldn't be alone anymore...in the dark...et cetera!"

The gesture struck her as sort of sweet. "Thank you, Hedwig. That's nice of you." She wondered how often Hedwig wanted someone to sleep next to him like this when he was alone and frightened in the night.

"Didn't it help at all? You still seem scared," he observed.

"I _am_ scared," she admitted shakily, sitting up to face him at eye-level.

"Why?"

Had he forgotten? Hadn't he been excitedly telling her before how the Beast was coming?

"Because..." She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She couldn't say the words out loud. _Because today might be the last day of my life if I don't get away from you._

"Mr. Dennis says you wear a lot of shirts." So he'd noticed. "I like this shirt," he continued with a grin he was poorly attempting to disguise.

"Thank you," she replied quietly.

"Miss Patricia says when the Beast comes tonight, we'll never have to be scared again."

A chill ran through Casey's body. Today was the day.

"She says you won't have to be scared anymore either!"

_Yeah, because I'll be dead._

The feeling that stirred inside her as he stared unflinchingly at her was uncomfortable and jittery. But she reminded herself that he was only Hedwig with the mind of a nine-year-old, even though he had the face of a grown man, finely stubbled with the beginnings of a gingery morning shadow, and a lithe, muscular body covered beneath that loose-fitting tracksuit.

"Hedwig," she said aloud, as if to reassure herself it was only the boyish alter and not the other more stoic personality, Dennis, who always seemed to set her heart pounding. "Have you ever seen the Beast?"

He watched her with childlike curiosity. "No." Without wasting a breath between sentences, he blurted, "Can I kiss you?"

Casey was sure she looked as shocked as she felt, because he ducked his head embarrassedly.

"I wanted to ask before but...well, I don't know much about kissing."

"Alright," she relented. If she could just be obliging and give him what he asked for, maybe she would have a better chance of escaping.

"Oh wow," he exhaled then apprehensively scooted forward on the bed. "Okay. Um..."

He acted so anxious that Casey guessed she might be his first kiss. But surely not. The man had to be at least 24 or 25...

"Okay. Here we go." He let out one last nervous breath and began his countdown: "1...2..."

The space between them was closing, and Casey chided herself for the way her belly fluttered with nervousness.

Hedwig drew the pause out between the last numbers, inches away from her lips.

"3!"

With that, he dipped his face forward quickly, and she shut her eyes tight to feel his open mouth limply press against her upper lip and part of her chin for a few uncomfortable seconds. There was the tiniest little noise in his throat, and then he pulled back to look at her again.

"You're a good kisser," he told her in his usual lisp. "Am _I_ a good kisser?"

"Mm-hmm," she said absently.

 _"Casey?"_ he said then, a little more softly. "Did you _really_ mean what you said before? About me being special?"

"Yeah, I did." She fought to put a smile on her face for him. Really, Hedwig, who was all at once precocious, strange, and sweet, _did_ seem sort of special somehow. She felt a bit guilty for the plan forming in her mind. It was risky, what she was about to try, but the odds were otherwise stacked heavily against her, and last night's terrifying conversation with Patricia was enough to make her decide she had to take this last opportunity while she had it.

"Actually, I have a surprise for you." She pointed, trying to conceal the shakiness of her limbs. "It's in the bathroom."

"For real?" He looked so shocked. So happy.

There would be no time to grab her boots. She swallowed, looking at him for what, with any luck, would be the last time. "For real. Do you want to go get it now?"

"Where is it?" He was so clearly full of excitement.

"It's behind the shower curtain."

She knew that bathroom door had no lock to hold him in, but if she could make a fast dash for the main exit, she was sure she could lock him in from the outside or overturn a bookcase to block the way.

As soon as he ran to the bathroom, distracted from her entirely, she bolted for the bedroom door and hurled it shut behind her. She let out a relieved sound almost like a sob when she saw she wouldn't need a key to lock the door from this side; it was a simple twist button lock.

"Hey!" she heard Hedwig's boyish voice shout, and his sneakers squeaked with each step as he rushed across the floor in the bedroom. "What are you doin'? Let me out!"

She ran to the second metal door only to find it was locked too, just as she had feared. Where was the key ring? She hadn't heard or seen the keys anywhere on Hedwig, and if he had them, he wouldn't be panicking now.

Instead he was jiggling the doorknob helplessly. "Casey? Please! What's goin' on?"

"Oh God," she panted, looking all around the room for the most obvious places he might keep the keys. Adrenaline coursed through her veins more strongly than it ever had before. But she knew she had to keep her head on straight. She had to see this through and get out to that hallway and whatever might be beyond it. Freedom...

 _"See, Casey, the thrill is about whether you can outsmart the other animal."_ She could hear her dad's voice echoing inside her mind as she scanned the room desperately. _"The does are smarter. They use their wits and stay covered. They know to protect themselves."_

 _Use your wits,_ she repeated to herself. She had to survive. She was her father's daughter.

"You're gonna get me in trouble with Miss Patricia! Now stop it and let me out!" Hedwig demanded as he continued desperately tugging at the knob.

Casey figured that his strength was only diminished because he was a child in his mind right now. She wasn't ignorant of his body's full physical capacity though, and once Dennis or another alter took the light, she wouldn't have a hope in the world of fighting him off. At least for now, he was trapped.

 _Just like he kept me trapped,_ she reminded herself. There was nothing to feel guilty for. Yes, she had tricked Hedwig, but this was a fight for her life, and valuable time was wasting.

The most obvious place to check first, she felt, was the desk. On top, there was a closed laptop, along with a notepad, pushed to the side. She pulled on the drawer so hastily, it nearly came all the way out. Pens, charcoal sticks, colored pencils, a roll of quarters, some tape, paperclips, batteries...but no keys. She checked the drawer for a false bottom. Still nothing. Not even an item she could use to pick the lock. Not that she knew how, but she was damn sure more than willing to give anything a shot at this point.

She threw open the laptop to get online only to find that, of course, it was password-protected with three accounts to choose from...Barry, Orwell, Dennis. No guest log-in option. Every minute she wasted trying to figure out a password was a minute left of her life.

Where had she last seen that green carabiner? Maybe it was still in Patricia's skirt pocket.

"Casey?" Hedwig sounded frightened now. He was alone in the dark.

She almost felt bad before she remembered he was her captor, not a little boy. She knew that there were other personalities, at least one, that planned to do her harm, and she couldn't let her logic be swayed by her sympathy for him now.

He was sniffling. "Don't leave me alone in here. Please? I'm scared!"

She flung open the doors of the wardrobe, full of clothes of all different styles, each section separated and clearly labelled by name: Barry, Orwell, Patricia...

Casey checked all the pockets of the skirts, coats, shirts, pants, and dresses, as fast as she could manage. The thick plastic hangers clacked noisily against one another as she shoved the clothes apart and to the side as she worked through them. She even checked inside the shoes at the bottom.

Her mad search continued at the bookcase. All the books seemed to be organized in a very specific way. History books and autobiographies, fashion design, makeup artistry, tailoring clothes...

With a sinking feeling, she became conscious of how quiet it was suddenly. Hedwig had stopped crying.

How long until one of the others came into the light? That thought made her tear through every possible spot she could find with extra intensity. There was no time to spare anymore. Her life depended on finding those keys.

In a frenzy, Casey began pulling out all of the books from the shelves, one by one and then faster in groups, seeking out an empty box or a hiding place behind the rows. They hit the rug with muffled thuds, splaying open vulnerably, their pages rustling as she tossed them behind her. But there was nothing there. Nothing to help her.

"Fuck," she rasped in her hoarse voice, trembling with fear as she wiped away the sweat over the bow of her lips with her sleeve. Her feet slid on the piles of books she'd scattered across the rug, and she nearly tripped twice. 

Next were the shelves on the wall. Every box got opened, every single trinket and vase overturned and thrown into the floor in her mad search. She was creating chaos all around her, but she had to find a way out while he was still locked in.

When she frantically jumped to grab at a storage box on the topmost shelf, a piece of broken glass from one of the vases she'd shattered in her hurry punctured her skin, raking across her palm as she jerked back. Immediately, fresh, bright red blood began to seep out from her wound. It should've hurt like hell, but she could barely feel anything but her all-consuming fear.

_Where else? Where could he have hidden them?_

On another wall, closest to the main door, an accordion rack held various styles of hats and scarves. Desperately, she snatched everything off the pegs, clamoring to find anything to help her.

She let out a choked cry when, finally, the keyring on that shiny green carabiner was revealed behind a knit beanie on one of the top pegs.

There were at least twenty keys on the ring, maybe more, and each one she tried in the lock would take time.

Blood spilled from the cut on her palm, leaving cardinal blotches where it dripped on the floor beneath her trembling hands while she poked the first key into the lock with no success.

Then she tried a second key. A third. A fourth.

After the fifth key, an intensely sharp clank and a simultaneous thud resounded behind her. It was a stomach-turning noise that shredded what was left of her nerves.

The man was kicking at the door.

Casey's heart pumped wildly as she worked to fit another key into the lock.

Another kick. Another metallic clank and the sick crack of wood. It was beginning to give in to his strength.

He would be through soon, and her blood-drenched fingers were barely working. She was on the ninth key when the door burst open from the force of his foot's final blow.

Casey whirled around to face him, and she knew it was Dennis just by the expression on his face and the way he carried himself, how his fists flexed until he was white-knuckled.

"I thought I lost you."

He was breathing heavily as he spoke, and the pale skin of his face was flecked pink from Hedwig's tears from just moments ago. His eyes were bloodshot, emphasizing the intense blue of his irises from across the room.

Dennis normally would have balked at the mess she'd made, but he ignored it as he focused only on her, and she knew she was as good as dead.

She should have waited until she had a guaranteed escape. She should have...

"You shouldn't trick children," he rasped. "That shows who you are."

Casey hated the way he made her feel, the way his words made her feel. She hated _him_.

She turned back to the door...a foolish move, but logic was no longer in play.

"You need to stop this." His deep tone was authoritative, and she knew it wasn't a request. "Now."

Her fingers were useless and fumbling, and she was barely able to see through the haze of her hot tears, but still she kept trying to unlock the door as he advanced, step by step. Surely he knew as well as Casey that she had no chance.

She didn't have to see to know when he was right behind her. She could just _feel_ him there by the tingle that crept up her back. She was shuddering so hard, every breath she took was a loud staccato of jerky, incomplete exhalation. Her knees locked, and her feet were stuck where she stood. She couldn't face him again.

It was over. It was all over.

Defeated, she closed her eyes, dropping the keys with a clatter on the concrete floor.

Casey knew what it was like to be overpowered by a man twice as big as Dennis, but his firm grip on her shoulder as he turned her back around exhibited immense restraint. It was clearly only a fraction of his full strength. He had just demonstrated his capabilities on the wooden door behind them, which now hung loose and broken from a single bent hinge.

He let out a throaty groan, and she knew he must be enraged. Except when she timidly looked up at him, the expression on his face was different than she expected. The furrows between his brows deepened, and he blanched when he saw the gash on her right hand.

"You're hurt," he realized aloud, as though he hadn't been able to see it before without his glasses until he was nearer. "There's blood all over you." He shook his head, wincing.

Why did he seem to be moving farther and farther away? Her legs were still locked at her knees, and her head was growing light. So very light...

Dennis was one step too late, and when she passed out, her head hit the floor.

If she'd been awake, she would have felt him hoist her up in his strong arms, cradling her close against his chest despite the mess of her blood. Then he carried her back into the room, back to the bed.

 

_Story Soundtrack:[You Can Change Your Mind - Dan Jones](https://youtu.be/3Axiq7kSLWQ)_

 


	9. Not Dark Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New revelations after Casey's escape attempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for self-harm/abuse. Story is rated Mature for a reason - language & serious themes throughout.
> 
> It's intense right now, and the next chapter will also be kind of intense, but the sweet stuff is eventually coming. All in good time! :)
> 
> P.S. The title of this chapter references the song "Not Dark Yet" by Bob Dylan, which is one of my all-time faves. I know his voice isn't for everyone. But you may appreciate the poetry of these lyrics, and his music is - in my mind - like Casey's dad's presence in her life and it also plays a part in the importance of his relationship with her mom from the past (which I hope to delve into at some point).
> 
> "Behind every beautiful thing, there's been some kind of pain."

Casey drifted in and out of consciousness, unsure of the line between reality and dreams anymore, but she could swear Dennis was right next to her.

"Can you hear me?" His deep voice gently rumbled, almost like distant thunder. "Wake up." His warm hands cupped her jaw. "It's alright. You're gonna be alright. Oh Christ, please wake up."

"What's going on?" Hedwig surfaced, still sniffing back his tears from earlier. "What's wrong with her?"

"She's hurt." Dennis paused, quickly thinking. Then he muttered to himself, "Barry'll know what to do."

"But Miss Patricia says —"

"I don't care what she says anymore! Listen to me," Dennis commanded him. "Let Barry back out. Get him into the light with me. And don't tell her anything, okay? No matter what she says, she can't hurt you."

"Is Casey gonna be okay?"

"Hedwig, now!"

It was only a few seconds later when a new alter with a different accent, similar to the one she'd heard answering the phone the other day, emerged.

"Well, it's about damn time that you —" He stopped short in the middle of scolding Dennis. "Oh my god. Who is that girl? What happened?"

"Please, Barry, she needs our help."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do it, I swear. I could never hurt her."

"But why is she here, Dennis? Why is there an unconscious girl in our bed? That's what I wanna know."

"I'll tell you everything. Just help me." Even through his typical gruffness, he seemed so panicked.

She could feel the weight of him sitting down beside her on the bed, and he pulled her hand up gently by the wrist to better examine her cut. "Oh, baby girl," he said in such a tender way. "What happened to you?"

"I don't exactly know how she cut her hand," answered Dennis for her. "But she fell before I could catch her."

"Oh, for the love of..." Barry grumbled. "Exactly how worried should I be? You kept me and Orwell out of the light for weeks, and now you pull me back in for _this_? How old is this girl, Dennis?"

"I think eighteen, maybe."

"Oh, great, she's practically a child, for Christ's sake! I mean, Dennis, come on. What is going on here?"

"Just help her."

"Has Dr. Fletcher been getting my emails?"

"She got them," Dennis said. "I talked to her."

"And you just pretended everything was fine as usual, didn't you? Didn't care to mention how you put me on lockdown?"

"I said you were having some anxiety again."

"Mm-hmm." Barry sighed dramatically. "It's not like you to lie to her like this, Dennis. It's not like you to do _any_ of this. Why would you —"

"Look, we can't tell her about this. She wouldn't understand."

"Of _course_ she wouldn't, because I sure as hell don't!"

"Barry, please help me. You know I'm not good with people like you. And she's a mess."

"I don't see why it matters. She looks completely knocked out to me. Not like you have to keep up a conversation," Barry quipped dryly.

"Please. You could stitch her up if she needs it."

"I sew clothes! I'm not a nurse, Dennis."

"You could help though — if she needs stitches."

Barry leaned in to study her hand. "I could," he relented in a tone less exasperated than before. "But she doesn't need it. She's lost a little blood, and that cut does need to be treated so it doesn't get infected, but —"

"Please," Dennis begged again, ragged and desperate.

"Sweetie, you're gonna have to calm down. With the way you're acting, anyone would think she was dying. It's not that serious. Look, the bleeding's already slowing down." His anger transformed into a sort of brotherly empathy for Dennis. It was obvious how flustered Dennis was. "Her hand's gonna be alright. That bump on the head though...how long has she been unconscious?"

"A few minutes. I think...I think I scared her."

"Yeah, you tend to do that." His voice was tinged with sarcasm, then he said seriously, "Honestly, Dennis, she probably needs to go to an urgent care or something. They can take care of her better than any one of us."

Dennis's reply was firm. "That can't happen."

Barry paused as he tried to grasp the entire situation. "Exactly who is this girl to you?" Dennis gave no answer. "I hope to God this has nothing to do with that nonsense Patricia's been babbling about for months." Dennis still said nothing, and Barry spat, "I knew it! I knew it! You listened to her and did something really dumb this time, didn't you?"

"I fucked up. I did. But I can't fix this on my own. Not anymore."

It was Barry's turn to pause as he tried to grasp the entire situation. "Alright." He threw up his hands. "Alright! But you and I are gonna have a looong chat once we take care of that cut. No shoving me back out of the light anymore. Deal?"

"I swear."

"Now, we need the first aid kit. Where's that at, the locker room?"

"Yeah, but...I can't leave her."

"Well, you're gonna have to spare a minute if you want me to clean up your mess for you."

Casey, drifting in and out, could hear them still arguing as the man walked away, before everything swirled back into darkness.

X X X X X

Story Soundtrack: ["The Field" - Abel Korzeniowski](https://youtu.be/BaphrewLvrc)

Casey slowly emerged from dreamless sleep as if from the grave, as the pounding of her head registered fully. She felt too weak to stand, but she was still alive.

Indolently, she lifted her hand to feel the lump at her temple, but her palm stung even worse when she pressed it there.

Hissing inwardly at the sharp pain, she pulled it back to find her right hand had been bandaged with sterile gauze and taped all the way around from between her index finger and thumb to where her wrist began. Bit by bit, the memory of what had happened came back to her. The escape attempt, fooling Hedwig and trapping him, Dennis bursting through the door after her...

The room was barely lit in an orange glow, and Casey looked to the right to find a nightlight, a cartoonish smiling tiger, plugged into the wall beside her. And the bed felt different somehow. The mattress was softer, and even the pillows beneath her head were fuller.

"You're awake," she heard someone say from the shadows to her left.

She shrank back, and then she saw the glow of the nightlight faintly reflecting from a pair of glasses lenses. As her eyes began to focus, she saw that Dennis was standing there, rigidly and upright against the far wall.

 _How long has he been there?_ , she wondered.

There was a tiny click, and a lamp turned on next to Dennis, bright enough to light up the room without being too harsh.

"Where...?" She looked around in surprise at what was obviously a child's room, lovingly decorated with every detail perfect, bright, and cheery. Just like the rest of his strange dwelling, the room around her was windowless, but the walls had been painted a light sky blue, and the trim and interior doors were white. A solid leaf green comforter was draped over her body, and she saw that the soft sheets had jungle animals printed all over it: elephants, tigers, monkeys, lions, and zebras. All around the room were crayon drawings taped to the walls and white shelves stacked full with children's books and stuffed animals, mostly tigers.

In one corner, next to a wicker laundry hamper, there was an old cd player sitting on top of a clear plastic tub full of what looked like paints, markers, and crayons, and that was stacked on top of another tub filled with toys like tiny race cars and Legos. Close to where Dennis stood, there was a glass aquarium with at least two small brown rodents rooting around inside.

"This is Hedwig's room," Dennis said, knowing she needed an explanation. "He likes animals even m-more than me." A slight half-smile flickered across his normally stern, angular face. "And he's the youngest, so I figure he deserves a nice place to sleep. I bought him that nightlight too, 'cause he's a little scared of the dark, and I thought maybe you might —"

"What do you want from me?" she pleaded, cutting him off.

He wouldn't answer her at first, and she wasn't sure whether he was intentionally staying silent to intimidate her or if he just didn't know what to say.

Casey pushed herself up by her elbows to sit higher against the thick pillows, and it was only then that she realized her long-sleeved shirt was gone. In its place, over her black tank, was an unfamiliar white t-shirt, laundry-fresh and a few sizes too big. Panicking, she plunged her left hand beneath the covers, searching at her legs to find with some relief that at least her jeans were still on.

"You took my shirt!" she said accusingly.

"It was bloody. Ruined," he stuttered out. "Barry changed it for you, but I — I didn't look, I swear."

Casey wasn't sure how one of his other personalities taking off her shirt was supposed to make her feel better.

"What do you want from me?" she repeated weakly.

"I'm sorry," he said, faltering. "I just —" He looked up at her then and was almost paralyzed for a moment. Then he took a step as he exhaled her name, "Casey."

Her belly fluttered with electric nerves, and she pulled in a shivery gasp, scarcely able to think with those blue eyes set so intensely upon her.

Dennis seemed to sense her fear and froze again, purposefully holding himself back from getting any closer. "I know you want to leave, and I swear it, you can," he told her.

Her breath stopped in her throat as she processed what he was saying.

"I'll help get you back home, safe with your family, and whatever happens after that, if I lose my job...If I lose everything..." He lowered his head and broke their gaze. "I deserve it," he lamented. "The others don't, but I do. I'm a fucking criminal for what I've done to you."

There was no point in denying him that; he recognized the gravity of what he'd done. But his shame was so palpable that she could almost feel the pain of it resonating inside her too.

"I'm going to make them lose everything I worked so hard for. I ruined it all from listening to Patricia. Our lives, yours. It's my fault. It's always my fault."

Dennis was clearly straining to hold a wave of intense emotions back, and his fists clenched so tightly, his knuckles had gone white and his face was red.

Casey didn't like the signs of anger, since she knew how unstable her uncle's moods could be, and to soothe him before he erupted, she told him, "It's okay."

He looked up at her from his balled up fists with surprise. "How can it be?"

"You didn't hurt me," she continued, cautious and low. "You have a good heart. You're just..." She searched for the right words. "Confused. Maybe. About some things."

His jaw clenched and flexed behind his taut skin.

"It's really okay. You can just let me go, and I swear I won't tell anyone about you. I won't say anything about what happened." She was bargaining for her life again, this time face to face with the man who'd taken her in the first place. "It's really okay." In truth, she wasn't sure if anything would ever be okay again. "If you can just please...please let me go."

"After all I've done, you're still so..." He seemed incredulous. "You're so nice to me."

Casey guessed that not many people in his life had ever tried to understand him or his personality disorder, much less offered him kindness. Maybe that's partly what got her into this mess. But she didn't much care for trying to become a therapist or a friend to him. Right then, she only wanted to get away with her life.

Dennis turned and leaned heavily against the dresser and let out a strange sigh. When he turned once more to face her, his eyes were different. It didn't send a rush through her gut when he looked into her eyes, and it was clear that Dennis wasn't in the light anymore.

"That wasn't nice, what you did," he lisped. "You lied."

"Hedwig!" She let out a tiny gasp.

"You scared me," he continued in his childish way. "And you left me all alone in the dark! Et cetera!"

"I'm sorry. Really."

He sounded so sad when he spoke again. "I thought you liked me."

His sorrowful words nearly broke her heart. "I _do_ like you, Hedwig."

He bit the inside of his mouth, thinking. "Then why'd you do that to me?"

"I needed to get away. I didn't want to be mean, but it was the only way," she told him. "I'm sorry."

Hedwig's shoulders drooped. "I'm sorry too, 'cause I gotta give the light to Miss Patricia now."

"No! No, wait!"

 

_Story Soundtrack: "[Conway Intervenes" - Jeff Beal](https://youtu.be/voVl5Y0aXJk)_

 

Before her eyes, the muscles of his face, the way he carried himself, his mannerisms, everything changed.

"Thank you, Hedwig," Patricia said rather cooly. A single brow rose angrily. She took in a long, controlled breath through her nostrils and then adjusted her collar. "You're becoming quite the problem for me, aren't you?"

Casey's raw voice broke in a wordless cry, and she scrambled off the bed and backed against the wall.

"You can just calm yourself down right now. Dennis can't hear you now. He may put up with your childishness, but I assure you I certainly won't." Her eyes narrowed. "That little stunt you pulled almost cost us everything."

Casey stayed frozen against the wall, her head reeling.

Patricia smiled, almost seeming to relish in the fear she so easily produced from Casey. "Now that I have your attention, I really must say I don't like the effect you have on Dennis. Not at all." Patricia came nearer, only feet away, and looked her over more closely. "To be fair, I can see why. But I won't have to worry about you anymore after tonight, will I, dear?" Her insinuation chilled Casey to the bone. "I think you've had enough special treatment today. Stand up," she commanded harshly. "We're going back to your room now."

As always, in the face of conflict, Casey complied, and Patricia walked closely behind her the whole way down the few steps to the hall and back into the office, which was still in disarray.

"You selfish, spoiled girl," Patricia hissed in Casey's ear, so close that she winced. "Look what you've done."

They both surveyed the room. Knick-knacks were scattered, and books from the shelves were strewn about with their pages splayed open and spines overstretched where they lay. And at her feet, she could see where droplets of her blood had seeped into the concrete floor.

"How dare you?" she snarled. "I ought to make you clean up every bit of this yourself. But you're in no state for it, and there's no time to waste as it is, so just keep walking."

They stepped around the mess and went back to the now familiar room with its stark, unfinished walls. The knot at Casey's temple was throbbing with each nervous pulse of her heart, and she wasn't sure what was going to happen next or what Patricia might do to her.

"Now you're going to clean yourself for his arrival."

Casey turned to her, and something inside her felt broken at seeing the man's beautiful eyes so full of hatred for her.

"Wh-what?"

"Get in the shower and wash up," Patricia told her brusquely.

"I can't."

"Do as you're told." Her voice was pure ice. "Don't dare test me, or I'll come in there, hold you down, and wash you from end to end myself."

It was clear Patricia wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Yes, ma'am." Casey knew how subservient she sounded, but she knew it was better when dealing with someone as hostile as Patricia had become. Every time she tried to run from Uncle John or "give him trouble," he always made sure that she would remember good and well that his wrath and her pain were the only two achievable results of defiance. She'd caused enough trouble today, and she told herself she was lucky it hadn't resulted in worse punishment. It would be better to take the shower willingly and on her own.

Obediently, she went into the bathroom, where she found a few clean folded towels and washrags waiting on the shelf above the toilet. Inside the shower, there was already a bar of soap and a clear dispenser of shampoo and conditioner mounted just beneath the shower head.

The water heated up in just enough time for Casey to nervously strip off the remainder of her clothes, including the t-shirt that Barry had substituted in place of her bloodied henley. She wondered if he had seen what lay beneath when he changed her shirt. Surely he had; it was impossible to miss without her layers. Her body was like a map of her many sorrows, although perhaps the worst of her wounds were invisible.

Maybe Dennis really didn't know. So much the better. She didn't like explaining away the evidence of her abuse any more than she liked looking at it herself.

When she stepped into the shower, it was a little difficult trying to keep her bandaged hand out of the flow, but she nearly sighed at how good it felt to be in the calming embrace of the hot water and steam after going so long without it. Balancing the washcloth on her thigh, she used her left hand to soap it up and then rub it a little unwieldily over her body.

The water trailed down in rivulets around her breasts and down the flat of her belly. Her pale flesh reddened under the heat, but it felt purifying somehow, the heavy stream of water and the fresh scent of the rosemary and mint.

Nervously, she listened for any sign that the man might open the door and barge in, but he never did. She thanked God for that. Her head felt light and painful still, but she wasn't as faint as before. She didn't want to leave the safety of the shower, but she knew Patricia would be growing impatient with each passing minute.

After taking a quick drink of the cooling water, she turned off the faucets and squeezed the excess moisture from her hair. Then, more than a little unwillingly, she stepped out and wrapped the towel around her body.

"All clean?" Patricia was just on the other side of the door waiting.

"Yes, ma'am," Casey called.

"Good," she replied and opened the door a crack. A lone hand appeared, holding out a white garment of some kind. "Put this on."

Casey once again complied and took it from Patricia, and the door closed again. As a safeguard, she pulled on her dirty ripped jeans, bra, and tank again, and then she held out the clothing that Patricia had given her to examine it. It was a peasant-style dress with long, open lace sleeves. She was more confused than ever, but she did as she was told and pulled the dress on over her head. Smoothing it down over her hips, she realized it fit her perfectly; he'd guessed her size accurately. Or maybe he knew her size from taking her clothes, bit by bit.

Curious to see how it looked, she backed up as far as she could from the small mirror over the sink to see what she could of the dress. The scoop neckline was lower than she would've liked, but it wasn't immodest, and it didn't reveal the few parallel lines of scars on her shoulders and upper arms. Her cheeks were rosy, and her long, wavy wet hair was almost black from the shower. She'd never worn anything so dressy before; she wasn't one to try to call attention to herself with her clothing, but in another circumstance, she might even think she looked pretty in it.

"Hurry, girl. We're running short on time."

When Casey exited the bathroom, she found Patricia sitting on the bed, still dressed in Dennis's clothes, which felt so strange to see. She was holding a comb, and a flower crown of lush green leaves and tiny white buds lay in her lap.

"Perfect," Patricia said approvingly, looking her up and down. "Absolutely perfect. He'll be quite pleased. Now let's get those tangles out."

Once again, Casey did as she was told and sat timidly next to Patricia where she patted the bed. The man's delicate fingers ran through her damp locks before each slow swipe of the wide-toothed comb.

When Patricia was done, she stood and pulled Casey up to face her. Casey swallowed, trying not to cloud her aching heart more by looking back into those eyes again, where she would find no trace of Dennis there.

"Now," she said, "the final touch." And with that, she laid the flower crown gently over Casey's head. "What a gift you'll be. But those pants. Dreadfully tacky. You can take those off back in Hedwig's room. Since your little fiasco left this door in tatters, you'll have to stay there to wait. Now, put your hands together, for tonight is a sacred and holy night."

Casey obeyed, lightly connecting palm to bandaged palm, and Patricia walked behind her with a lit candle in a tall glass cylinder clasped in her hands.

"In the sun, we will find our passion," she recited as they crossed the threshold into Hedwig's bedroom. "In the sun, we will find our purpose." Her tone was suddenly cheery again. "It's such a nice little room, isn't it? Cozy."

In truth, it was a nice little bedroom — the kind Casey might have liked as a child.

"All Dennis, of course. He indulges the youngest far too much, but that's just who he is. Good and pure. And you aren't going to taint him anymore." The closed-lipped smile she offered Casey was frightening. "I trust you'll be a good girl while we're gone? No more ruining my home and making messes? You won't be able to get out of here, dear, no matter how hard you try. Trust me on that."

"Yes, ma'am," she replied quietly. Patricia raised a single brow again and pursed her lips. "Good. I really don't want to have to clean up anything more than necessary tonight. Now, I must be off. You see, we're picking up someone very special from the train station."

The door closed behind her once again, and after a few minutes, Casey could hear the sound of a drill, like the man was sealing her inside the bedroom.

Defeated, she sat back down on the bed, staring at the spot where Dennis stood less than an hour before, where he'd been waiting to make sure she would wake up, where he'd looked into her eyes like no one ever had before, when he swore to her he would set her free.

 


	10. I Can Feel the Soil Falling Over My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for past abuse mentions, some minor violence, and a quick description of suicidal thoughts.

The round alarm clock on the nightstand by Hedwig's bed maddeningly ticked down the seconds left of Casey's life. Patricia had been gone for well over an hour with no word of when to expect her return, presumably with the one they called the Beast.

Casey didn't know how close this building was to one of the train stations, although she guessed it was somewhere in Philadelphia, because she'd spotted a Flyers magnet on the fridge in the kitchen the night before.

Waiting for whatever was coming only made her anxiety worse. Her thoughts were turning dark, and she needed a distraction to keep her mind occupied for a while.

It might not accomplish a thing, but exploring the room might be better than spending the last hours of her life in bed staring at the ceiling, so she forced herself to get up. She naturally gravitated to the gerbil cage first. Casey always preferred animals over people. Hedwig's pets were precious with their large brown eyes, abundant whiskers, and tiny, clawed paws. They were chubby little things, and it was obvious that they were well looked after and loved.

_Story Soundtrack:["Writing to Mama" - John Williams](https://youtu.be/FRm2B9taF0A)_

After watching the pair rummage around in their wood shavings and munch on sunflower seeds for a while, she decided to peruse the books on the shelves. Most of them were for kids around Hedwig's age. Most seemed to have been published in the 1990s, like a good-sized collection of battered Goosebumps series paperbacks. One shelf held a few of Hedwig's stuffed animals, including a faded orange Tigger. Casey wondered if it belonged to Kevin first.

Next to the timeworn plush toy, there was a stack of classic Golden Books, and Casey smiled to see that he owned one of her childhood favorites: "The Monster at the End of This Book." Although Casey hadn't seen it in years, she could almost remember the words by heart, and something about having it in her hands as she flipped through the tattered pages calmed her buzzing nerves a little. Even as she browsed through it silently, she still recalled what her father sounded like when he read it aloud to her all those years ago.

Her short-lived smile disappeared when she remembered that most of her old belongings, including that book, had been sold in yard sales over the years so Uncle John could make a few extra dollars. He told her she was getting too old for kids' stuff. He hadn't understood that she wanted to keep those treasures because they were some of the last few physical connections to her happy memories with her father.

Sighing, she put the book back in its place on Hedwig's shelf and wondered how often Kevin or his alters sat alone reading these books over the years. One of the gerbils started to run on the squeaky exercise wheel in their cage, providing a pleasant sort of white noise to soak up the overwhelming silence of the building around her, as she moved on to look more closely at the artwork that Hedwig had put up on his wall.

Just beside the main doorway, he'd taped up a crayon drawing of what looked like a family portrait of sorts. Two of the people depicted were hard to identify, but she figured that maybe one of them was Barry. One had close-cropped gray hair and wore a necktie and gold wire-rimmed glasses. Another had on a beanie and a deep v-neck shirt. Patricia, in a dress and heels and a gray bobbed haircut, stood next to the man in the beanie. Another figure was lying to the right of everyone in a small bed. He wore a yellow shirt and appeared to be fast asleep with little Zzz's drawn above his head. Dennis stood in the foreground of the picture next to Hedwig. He had drawn himself as a child with an unruly mop of ginger-red hair and wearing his favorite white sneakers. Dennis stood a head taller than all the others and was wearing black, but what caught Casey's attention the most was that he was holding Hedwig's hand.

Though it was clearly childish, some of Hedwig's work exhibited what Casey considered talented for a nine-year-old mentality.

Above the headboard of the bed, Hedwig had also created a sort of window for himself, tacked up in two separate layers. The top sheet of paper showed a scene of grass and trees and birds outside a wood and glass windowpane, and when she lifted it, the second panel showed what it would look like with the window open.

Each detail of his room revealed a bit more of who Hedwig was and what he loved most, and it touched her unexpectedly. Perhaps something about him reminded her of who she had been once long ago: a naive child, full of curiosity and optimism. A little girl who still believed in happy endings.

Hedwig was likely all those things and more, but he also seemed to need someone to recognize that he was special and worthy of love. Casey had long since given up on those dreams.

His entire room was decorated with animals in one form or another, and Casey recalled how Dennis had told her how much they both liked animals. Just another thing she shared in common with them. 

She hated that another thing they appeared to share in common was a history of abuse. At least she had known what it was like to be loved by her father, even though it was only for a few years of her life. Dennis never had that, if what Patricia said was true about his father leaving on a train and never coming back.

Her heart grew heavier with each passing minute. The knot at her temple still hurt quite a bit, and she began to feel more light-headed. Her stomach had been unrelenting with its growls for the past few hours. She hadn't eaten a single thing all day.

When she turned back toward the dresser and saw the white dress hugging her body in the reflection of the mirror, she was reminded that she shouldn't feel any semblance of pity for the person holding her captive here. 

She reached to turn off the lamp and stay there in the darkness again, but for a moment, she let her fingers stay poised at the switch, considering whether she should just keep the light on and face her death bravely. In the end, she opted to turn it off anyway, although when she curled back up on her side in Hedwig's bed, the nightlight chased away the darkness. 

Somehow, the little smiling tiger reminded her of Hedwig, and as silly as it seemed, it somehow comforted her to imagine one of the man's kind and innocent personalities with her now. She found herself recalling how he looked when he lay next to her earlier that morning with his fingers furled delicately in the waves of her dark hair. She pictured the way the dim light played across his face, shadowing the crease of his chin and the gentle furrows on each side of his blush lips, highlighting the gingery stubble of his morning's growth of a beard in contrast to his light brown hair which had begun to grow back from his shaved scalp. Even now, she was still affected by the peaceful look on his face as he slept, nudging so closely to her.

His touch hadn't been intrusive or inappropriate. He'd said he just didn't want her to be scared and alone. Hedwig probably knew that feeling all too well. He was one of the few people whom she could ever recall showing her kindness like that without expecting something in return.

What might it have been like, she wondered, if it had been Dennis, and not Hedwig, in the light that morning, sleeping next to her? What if he had been the one to hold her close in the darkness and try to drive away her nightmares? The thought created a hollow ache in her chest and drew tears to her dry eyes, stinging but cruelly denying her any release.

To shut down those emotions, she told herself she was being foolish. The white dress she wore was probably her death shroud. Happiness wasn't meant for girls like her, she knew that.

Her thoughts grew increasingly morbid without further distraction, and she began to think that maybe it was for the best that tonight was to be her last night alive after all she had been through. However, she still wished that she at least had the power to end it on her own terms. She imagined what it might feel like to take one of her familiar friends, the razor blades she used to cut into her flesh to relieve her pain, and press it in just the right spot more deeply than ever before. Would it be frightening? Or would it be a relief to watch all of the shame and sorrow finally drain away from her forever? How might it be, that last nod into unconsciousness? Would it be as easy as falling asleep?

Suddenly, she heard noise outside in the hallway. Someone was approaching, and each step was slow and deliberate and heading right for Hedwig's bedroom.

Her body tensed at the sound of the slide bolt lock scraping open. A stream of fluorescent light framed a dark figure at the open door, casting a shadow across the room to Casey where she lay motionless and terrified on the bed. The surprise she felt at seeing the man again washed over her. She wasn't sure what exactly she had been expecting but for some reason it hadn't been him. Yet there he stood, ominous and silent as a stone.

_Story Soundtrack:["Last Rites" - West Dylan Thordson](https://youtu.be/7v5maqa-Ysc), Split score_

After a moment, he closed the door behind him again, leaving them both in near complete darkness aside from the tangerine glow of the nightlight.

"He didn't come."

It was a feminine voice, and Casey's heart sank. _Patricia._

Casey edged over to the side of the bed nearest the nightlight and nervously clutched at the comforter with her left hand.

"We waited," Patricia continued. "We waited for hours, and he never arrived. And now Dennis...he doubts that..." Casey could tell she was looking right at her, because her voice hardened. "This is _your_ doing, I know it. What is it? What have you done?"

"Nothing! I...I haven't done anything," she sputtered back.

"But you were the one. I knew it as soon as I saw you that you were the _one_. What am I missing?" Patricia murmured to herself. "Perhaps...perhaps he needs me to draw the first blood before he can properly emerge." She seemed absolutely unhinged.

Though Casey felt weak, adrenaline was coursing through her body again, and she was shivering almost uncontrollably. "Please," she begged. "You're a good person. You don't really want to do this!"

Patricia's voice was unnervingly calm. "You're fighting the inevitable, dear. The best people always go out with dignity."

Casey shut her eyes tight when she felt the weight of the man's body edging onto the bed, closer and closer, the sickly familiar feeling triggering memories of her uncle in the night.

"Please, don't!"

Patricia seemed almost motherly and sympathetic, were it not for the words she spoke. "You were always going to die. From the moment you came here, surely you knew that."

Patricia was right. Casey knew she had been marked for death as soon as Dennis had taken her on that stormy night in the parking lot. And that was what Patricia had finally come for.

"Now, dear," she continued, reaching out and brushing her fingers gently over Casey's cheek. "If you don't struggle, it will be over so much faster."

Uncle John's words swirled in her mind. _"Don't give me any trouble now..."_

Casey jerked back from her cold touch. She had been fully prepared to accept the end, but something inside her snapped. No more. No more blind obedience. No more cowing down. She knew she needed to fight with everything she had left inside her when she saw the glint of the knife that Patricia held in her hand.

With a throaty cry, she leapt forward in an attempt to get away, but Patricia quickly snatched her ankle and held tight, leaving her hanging halfway off the side of the bed. Using all her remaining strength, she drew her other leg back and kicked Patricia squarely in the face. She wasted no time in jumping up while Patricia was stunned from the unexpected blow.

After throwing open the bedroom door, she rushed down the short flight of stairs, nearly tripping on her dress's long hem. She had just reached the hall when the heart-stopping sound of those thick-soled boots came clomping up fast behind her.

Casey didn't even consciously realize the single name that erupted from her mouth over and over as she fled. "Dennis!" Her screams shredded her throat, rising to a new intensity, breaking as it strained. "Dennis!"

With a low, unseemly growl, Patricia dove at her legs, taking Casey down hard. Though she tried to block the fall with her hands, the air was knocked from her lungs when her chest landed roughly on the floor. Her vision went black for a moment, and her flower crown went spinning a few feet farther down the hall ahead of her, scattering white buds and leaves in its wake.

"Scream all you like," Patricia hissed, kneeling on Casey's back and pinning her down. "He can't hear you. No one can." With that, Patricia tightened her fist painfully in the mass of Casey's hair to hold her better.

Casey couldn't make more than a raking gasp as she tried to breathe, and her heart pounded wildly inside her stunned ribcage. Blood seeped through the bandage on her hand and left a red smudge on the ugly linoleum tile beneath her.

The knife was surely about to plunge in, she knew it. _This is it. This is the moment I die._

Suddenly, Patricia's entire body began to shudder, and with a garbled cry, she slumped off of Casey's body and struggled to stand.

Casey was finally able to pull in a breath, but she was still too weak to get up. Then, she heard what was perhaps the sweetest sound she'd heard in years: Dennis's voice, guttural and gruff. "Don't you ever touch her again."

"I'm doing this for you, dearest," Patricia panted back after a moment, clearly fighting to keep hold of the light. "The Beast is angry with us. That's why he didn't come."

Casey could only stare, wide-eyed, unable to speak or move as the argument played out between two people inside the same flesh.

"You're doing this for yourself. I told you back at the train station it was over."

"That girl has warped your mind," retorted Patricia, pointing a shaking finger at Casey where she lay sprawled in the floor in her dirtied white dress. "This is for the best."

"How is hurting her for the best? You've gone...Something is wrong here. Dead wrong."

"Just go back to your chair if you're so determined to fail me again. But I'm going to finish what we started!" Patricia lunged at Casey again, but Dennis quickly took control, struggling inside his own body so that all his muscles were quivering with the tension. He worked to open his fingers, and finally the knife dropped with a clang to the floor.

"Casey, run!," he shouted at her. "Lock yourself inside the office! Now!"

Without waiting another second, Casey found the energy to push herself up to her feet, squealing at the sharp pain at her palm, and ran inside the office as she was told. After locking the door, she leaned heavily against the door, trying to listen to what was happening outside between her rasping breaths.

"It's not as though it's easy for me to do this. But clearly, I'm the only one who knows what's best for you now."

"Dr. Fletcher says that we _all_ work to protect Kevin."

"Dr. Fletcher," scoffed Patricia, "She can't understand. She's never suffered. She's impure just like that girl in there."

"No. You're wrong. She does understand. She _does_. She's the only one fighting for us. She's the only one who even believes we all exist," Dennis argued.

"The entire world will know we exist when the Beast emerges."

"I won't let you hurt that girl in there. This isn't the way."

"You're holding us back from true greatness. You've let yourself go foolish for a woman. You're so _weak_!"

"Why do you talk to me that way? Why? You say those things to Hedwig too, and he's just a kid. It's not right." A quiet sort of realization softened his voice. "You've turned out just like her. Like Kevin's mother."

"Dennis, that's not true in the least."

"It is true. You hurt me, and then you call it love," he murmured sadly. "Dr. Fletcher says —"

"That old woman doesn't know what love is. You said yourself that she lives alone."

"So? So do we," Dennis returned. "None of us know what love is. We've never had it. But I bet she knows better than us."

"I've always been here for you. No one else could _ever_ love you, knowing what you are and what's been done to you. That's why you don't know what love looks like when it's right in front of you. It's me. I'm trying to help you, don't you see?" It was chilling, how terrible and cutting her words could be when her tone was so sugary sweet.

All was quiet for a moment. "You really _are_ just like her," Dennis finally said, stifling back tears. "You say horrible things to me when I don't do what you want. And you keep talking about the Beast like she used to talk about her version of God. But that God never listened to me, no matter how much I suffered or how many hours she made me pray on my knees." Casey realized that he wasn't stammering or pausing between words anymore. "The Beast was always bullshit! Barry and Orwell knew it. They saw right through you. That's why you wanted them out of the light. Why couldn't I see?"

"Dennis, you're wrong."

"The Beast didn't come because he doesn't exist. You made him up. You made me think...that there was something greater." He sounded so mournful and broken. "I wanted so badly to believe that...that I wouldn't have to be the strongest anymore. God, I wanted it so much."

"He is real. He is! If we just believe. You've lost your faith."

"I wish to God it was real. But it's not. Maybe you _are_ just trying to protect me. And maybe I'm not worth loving, just like you say. But that girl in there...she's worth saving from this."

Casey let out a shuddering sob. Her chest ached so badly as she began to cry, but finally, the tears were flowing freely again.

"You're a fool!" There was a loud thud vibrating the door at her back, and Casey jerked away. Patricia wasn't giving up yet. Worse yet, she could hear keys. Dennis mustn't have realized he still had the key ring on him.

Casey backed up so rapidly, she forgot about the mess behind her and tripped over backwards on some of the books, landing hard on her backside. Scrambling up as quickly as she could, she ran into the bathroom, slammed that door behind her as well, and got into the tub. After pulling the shower curtain closed, she cowered with both hands over her head, rocking herself back and forth, listening to the two alters fighting for control and waiting for her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this one originally took me some time to iron out, and on the second go-round, I really enjoyed re-reading this. I wasn't as concerned about some of the violence and stuff as I was the first time I posted this story, so I feel like - hopefully, that's a good sign. It's been so wonderful to come back to this story!!!
> 
> However, just want to clarify again that even though Patricia is acting violently, it's not my intent to demonize mental illness at ALL.
> 
> I cannot speak for those living with DID, but I did want to learn what I could and be more aware of what DID is like outside of fiction. I realize my characterizations are a little different from the movie, but that's how I wanted it. 
> 
> So - to clarify, I studied and checked up on how the roles sometimes work in a person with multiple personalities. Often there is at least one child alter (Hedwig). Dennis, to me, serves as the protector and rescuer, and in my story, he thinks of Hedwig like a little brother in a way. He wants to indulge him and let him have the childhood that (and Kevin) never got to have for himself. In my eyes, Dennis first came into the light to save Kevin from the worst of the abuse. Though protectors are often tougher, stronger, braver, etc., my Dennis is actually really vulnerable and has a lot of difficulty with what happened to him, and all of the verbal abuse he's taken even as an adult has made him feel like he's not worthy of love. He has a wall up, but he so desperately wants to take it down...
> 
> Patricia, in my personal canon, originally emerged as a caretaker and mother figure, but over time, she has evolved into a persecutor/perpetrator role that resembles the original abuser, who was Kevin Crumb's mother.
> 
> You'll see the appearance of just a few more later on, but no spoilers for now. In my story, Kevin only has a few alters versus the incredible amount in M. Night's amazing movies. It's just too many for me to handle without losing time to the main relationships I want Casey to be able to develop with him.
> 
> Hope you're loving the music additions as a kind of soundtrack. I'm also going to start including the songs that my lyrical titles reference, which alternate between Bob Dylan songs and The Smiths.
> 
> This Chapter: "I Know It's Over" by The Smiths
> 
> Thanks so much for letting me know what you think, because your encouragement and comments and kudos really do mean the world to me!


	11. The Feelings That Are Buried Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey's traumatic memories surface as she waits to see what her fate will be, once the fight between Patricia and Dennis is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for physical abuse scene and allusions to sexual abuse in a flashback.
> 
> This chapter's title comes from the lyrics in Bob Dylan's excellent song "Most of the Time." https://youtu.be/SQbr4ISrjII
> 
> Seriously, the lyrics of this song. God. "I can survive, and I can endure..."

The pain resonating throughout Casey's body wasn't enough to completely pull her mind from where it precariously hung between the terror of the present and the trauma of her past.

Being chased down by Patricia triggered one of her more disturbing memories to bubble up from the vast mental reservoir where she tried to retain and hide them all. Now, as she cowered in the bathtub, a familiar voice echoed inside her ears.

_"Casey, where are you?"_

_Making Uncle John search the house for her instead of willingly coming to him when he calls will probably only make her punishment worse, she knows that. But she's frozen in fear where she sits behind the clothes hanging on the lower bar in the closet. His weighty footsteps plod down the hall, muffled slightly by the carpet._

_"I'm not mad. I just wanna talk. Now, come on out." He's been drinking again; she can tell by the way he's slightly slurring._

_He's closer now. He'll find her. He always finds her in the end._

_She thinks for a minute that maybe if she goes along with his demands, he might go easy on her. But after nine years of living with him, she doesn't trust that thought anymore, although it's also just as possible that he really does only want to talk about it. Because, to add to her confusion, he often_ **_is_ ** _simply friendly Uncle John: a man neither consistently kind nor consistently cruel to her. And beyond the hatred she feels for him when he gets in these dark moods, she inexplicably still loves him. Maybe only because he's her guardian, her last living relative, and her father's brother. But sometimes...most of the time, in fact...he can be funny and playful._

_That's what makes it all the more terrifying for her when he acts like this. The bad times when he becomes violent or wants to touch her have been increasingly growing worse the older she gets. He's begun to make it clear that their old games, games which children should never have to play, are no longer enough to keep him satisfied._

_He might apologize tomorrow, or even cry, beg her to forgive him, and promise he won't do it again, like he sometimes does. Or he might take the more common route and just pretend what he did never happened at all. He'll treat her like everything is fine, like they're just an uncle and his niece, living a normal life. But Casey's not naive enough to think he's handling the news from her teachers well, because she's intentionally lined up another two Saturday's worth of detentions for more bad behavior at school._

"Casey?" She could hear Dennis after the office door whined on its old hinges as he pushed it open. "It's over."

How _could_ it be over as long as Patricia was still a part of Kevin?, she wondered.

He was in the bedroom. The rhythmic gait signaled by the soles of his boots on the concrete floor as he approached was no less frightening to her than the sound of her uncle stalking heavily through the house.

Dennis had saved her. She knew that. But Fear didn't want to loosen its cold, tight grip on her yet.

_John's in the bedroom now. He's right outside of the closet where she's hiding._

_"Casey, come on now," he whines, taking on a tone that he only uses when he's trying to persuade her that he won't hurt her. Sometimes it works._

_She keeps holding her breath, hoping beyond hope that he'll just give up, retreat to his recliner, and fall asleep watching TV, so she can slip out through the window into the acreage behind the house and wait until nightfall to return._

_"I guess I'm just a fool for loving you like my own," he says, as though he's truly hurt. "What would your daddy think about you not being better to me after all I've done? Taking you in and feeding you, clothing you. Where would you be without me?"_

_The closet panel slides open, shrieking on its old metallic tracks, and Casey screams and scoots to the corner, out of reach of John's grabbing meaty paws. He curses but he's not giving up. After a few tries, he manages to grab her by the ankle and drags her out._

_"Always giving me trouble," he growls, showing his true colors as soon as he's got her. She can smell the beer on his breath when he pulls her up to stand. "Just more and more, all the time. If I have to go to one more goddamn conference about how you're giving your teachers lip, I swear." He towers over her. "You still feel like sassing someone, Casey?"_

_"No, sir," she answers him._

_"You think talking back to your teachers will impress the boys, don't you?"_

_Casey grimaces and hardens herself. Boys are the last thing in the world she cares about. They're all the same to her. "No, sir."_

_"Well, you better think harder about what it's gonna take to impress_ **_me_ ** _," he warns, "because I might just kick your ass out."_

_"I wish you would!" she spouts. As soon as she sees the expression on his broad bearded face, she realizes she's made a grave mistake. Now he has more reason to dole out his special brand of discipline._

_She still hasn't learned to hide her anger easily. When she looks up at him, fiery and daring, he stares right back. It's a pissing match that Casey always loses when she comes close to crying, and this time is no different. To avoid the way his green eyes rake over her maturing body, she redirects her attention to the camouflage-print comforter lazily rumpled on his bed._

_Satisfied, Uncle John leans forward and tells her, "You're_ **_never_ ** _gonna leave me. You hear me? I didn't have to take you in, but it's what your daddy would've wanted. So that's what I did, and you ought to be grateful. Now, you better apologize."_

 _"You're nothing like him," she retorts sharply. "He'd kill you if he knew what you_ —"

_The force of his slap against her cheek knocks her down to the floor at the side of the bed._

_"You just stay right there where you belong, on your knees," he tells her, a smirk on his thin lips. "You were trouble as soon as you were born. You even killed your daddy. Broke Jackson's heart, taking your mama out of this world as soon you came in it."_

_It's not the first or last time he's blamed her for the deaths of both her parents, and it doesn't hurt any less the more it's repeated._

_"Well, you're not gonna give me trouble anymore. Not ever again."_

_It takes no effort at all for the big man to toss all one hundred pounds of her onto the bed. Still stunned, she hears the familiar clink of his wide metal buckle, then he loosens his belt from the loops of his jeans. When he doubles the band over on itself, it gives a harsh, leathery snap._

_She's still determined not to let him see her bend, no matter how much her jaw aches and her cheek burns red hot. She won't cry or let him think that he's won._

_That all changes once he begins to swing his belt._

_"Please," she screams after only a few lashes._ _"Don't hurt me anymore!"_

_"You think I like doing this?" He's not finished. Not nearly. "This is your own damn fault. How many times am I going to have to teach you?"_

Casey silently mouthed the same phrase over and over as she sat in the tub: "Please don't hurt me anymore, please don't hurt me anymore."

Dennis was right outside the bathroom door. "Are you..." He faltered, unsure of what to say next. "Did Patricia hurt you?"

She didn't reply and hugged her legs protectively closer to her, trying to release herself from the sick playback of her flashback.

_Pain and shame blur together as her uncle's belt claps sharply against her skin. She tries to wriggle away in a last-ditch effort when the whipping slows, but John's too powerful. He grabs her roughly by the neck and holds her down, pulling at her clothes as he presses her face into one of the pillows._

_Casey is helpless to understand why this is happening to her, why this is her fault._

_"_ I'm coming in," Dennis announced with no more hesitation, his tone betraying his concern. Even when he stepped inside, she didn't move a muscle, keeping her sore ribs motionless. Her lungs were desperate for air, as if her face was still pressed into that pillow, years behind her now.

The metal roller rings above her head clacked against one other in a row, a sound reminiscent of the wire hangers in her uncle's closet, as he pulled back the shower curtain. She gasped and pulled away from him, pressing herself to the side of the white tub like a stain.

"Hey, you're okay," he spoke to her calmly and evenly, as if she were a wounded wild animal. "You're okay." He squatted beside her. "It's over now."

Casey cautiously watched his graceful fingers as he gestured for her to come out. She couldn't forget the way they were wrapped around the handle of that kitchen knife earlier.

Her hesitation prompted him to say more. "Patricia's gone. She's out of the light. Maybe for good."

For a moment, they remained where they were, stuck in an uncomfortable silence. An indiscernible emotion flickered over his face when he saw how terrified she really was.

"You're pale as a ghost," he muttered, and his brows furrowed. "If you're scared of me, I could...Barry can come out. People like him. And he —"

"No!" Casey exclaimed. Her vocal cords felt shredded but she was still able to speak.

A look of surprise on his face erased the the wrinkles of stress and made his eyes go wide. "You...want me to stay?"

She wasn't actually sure what she wanted.

"I...I don't want to make you get up if that's where you feel safe. I just want..." The tips of his ears flushed pink. "You want me to leave you alone?"

Again, she said nothing.

"I scare you," he conceded and began to stand back up. "You don't want —"

He paused when she shakily reached out for his hand. 

Dennis's countenance seemed so much softer and open when he was bewildered, as he was just then, and she felt less afraid. Though his warm grip was strong, he was almost imperceptibly trembling as he helped her step out of the tub. His gentle demeanor only lasted as long as it took for him to see the dirty footprints she'd left behind on the white porcelain.

"It's filthy." He drew back as if her touch had suddenly burned him, and he went rigid. "And your dress...it's..." He spotted the tiny splotch of blood and the brown dust smeared over the bodice from where she'd landed in the hall earlier. "It's ruined. It...it's unacceptable. You've got to..." He stroked over the short brown stubble of his scalp, clearly disturbed by the mess.

Casey felt so tired and weak that she had to hold on to the sink to keep herself steady. She wasn't sure she could manage another shower, much less cleaning the tub and the floor where she'd left her used towels and his t-shirt earlier.

"Just take it off," he said. "All of it."

Her bloodshot eyes widened. Did he mean for her to take it off here and now? Right in front of him? "No!"

"You have to," he demanded more firmly this time.

She crossed her arms over her torso defensively. "I can't. Please."

"I'm trying here," he strained out as he stepped slowly toward her. "I'm trying so hard."

She wondered if he would try taking off her clothes himself. She tried not to remember the nauseating sense of what it felt like to be stripped unwillingly.

When he was within inches of her, she summoned up what strength she had left and tried to shove him back with both hands, though her cut stung sharply. 

Dennis flinched only once, then his face hardened. He was shocked, but he didn't stumble or retreat.

Casey pushed at him again and again and again, crazed with the need to protect herself.

"Don't touch me!" she cried out. How pitiful and broken she sounded.

After a moment, she was ashamed and astonished to realize Dennis wasn't advancing on her or fighting back or even defending himself from her ineffectual blows. He just stood there, allowing her to get out what she had to.

Finally, Dennis grabbed her wrists with one hand firmly. 

"Stop it," he commanded.

When she stilled and stopped struggling against him, he let go, but as soon as she was free of his grip, Casey became unbalanced and teetered a bit.

He must have assumed she was close to fainting again, because before she knew what was happening, he had taken her arm over his shoulders to steady her, determined to not let her fall again.

"I didn't mean to scare you...it's just...we need to get you in some clean clothes. And get that bandage changed too."

She didn't struggle, but she was a bit dumbfounded. Not only by his words, but by his sudden closeness when he always seemed so determined to keep his distance from her before.

"You really won't hurt me?" she weakly asked. 

"Never." His deep voice resonated through her, soothing as a lullaby. "I would never ever hurt you."

And that was all that needed to be said.

She walked alongside him, comforted by his clean, warm scent and the way his arm felt wrapped around her. Uncle John wasn't here, and neither was Patricia. Casey was, at least for now, safe. Together, they slowly made their way through the mess of the office, down the hall, and into Hedwig's bedroom again.

As soon as she sat on the bed, he pulled back from her again, as though afraid to hold a connection with her for any longer than absolutely necessary.

Casey tried to hold herself up, but she had to lean to the side against the thick pillows.

"You haven't eaten a thing today, have you?" he muttered almost angrily.

She shook her head no. 

He flicked on the lamp before turning to leave. "Don't do something stupid like getting up on your own. Your body's too tired to try." Though his gentle tone had disappeared, she could tell he meant well.

It was a numb sort of surprise to be in the same room where she spent what she had been sure were the final hours of her life. There was the same tiger nightlight, still glowing cheerily; the pinned-up drawings of a red crab, an octopus, a ladybug, a tiger, and, of course, the 'family' portrait; the books and stuffed animals; the gerbils in their cage; and the clock next to the bed, which now read 2:07 a.m. 

She wasn't sure how long she'd been awake, but after everything she'd been through, she was so incredibly fatigued. The door was wide open, giving her a possible chance to escape, but she didn't have the strength left to take it. Now she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to try.

Only a few minutes later, Dennis returned with the usual folding tray, a glass of milk, and a sandwich on a plate.

"It's not much," he apologized as he arranged the tray in front of her in his fastidious way, "but it was easy to make quick." He folded his yellow-gold handkerchief over on itself a few times before pocketing it again in his tight black pants.

Casey was still a bit dazed. When she didn't respond, he squatted down beside the tray to catch her attention.

"You need to eat now, alright?"

"I need..." Dennis's gaze was trained on her so intently, his blue eyes full of concern for her. She bit at her lower lip before continuing hesitantly, "Will you let me go?"

"I will," he replied. "I swore before, and I'm telling you again, I'm gonna get you out of here. But you should eat first. And rest."

She shifted to sit up closer to the tray before she began to eat, so she wouldn't drop a crumb anywhere but the plate for his sake. Then she picked up the first perfectly cut half of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"I don't expect you to believe me after everything that's happened," said Dennis. "But I'll make sure you get home to your family. And you won't have to worry about any of this ever again. In just a few days, it'll be like I was just...a monster...in a bad dream." He stood up and headed to the open doorway. "Nothing but a monster," he murmured more softly. "Go ahead. Eat." 

This time, she obeyed, and Dennis didn't stay to watch. Surely he'd return though, so she began working to get down what she could of the simple but comforting meal. The glass of milk, thankfully, was ice cold, and it soothed her ragged throat. 

He reappeared a few minutes after she finished, and he carried an unopened kitchen trash sack, a white tin first aid kit with a red cross on it, a plastic packet of some kind, and a small stack of folded clothes. He deposited all of it on the bed, then he began his usual routine of taking away the folding tray and dishes with the handkerchief covering his hand.

Once she was full, Casey slumped back against the pillows and tried to rest until Dennis returned again.

"I took care of cleaning up the tub.," he told her when he came back. "I'll handle the office too. I don't want you worrying about any of that."

It hadn't actually crossed her thoughts, but the mess was probably one of his top priorities until he could completely clean it, knowing his meticulous needs. Even though she had good reason at the time for ransacking the place, she still felt some guilt over it.

"You need to get into some clean clothes before you go to bed, and your feet are dirty. And that bandage needs to be changed." He paused for a minute, thinking, and he stood almost exactly where he'd been earlier in the day near the dresser. "You sure you wouldn't rather have Barry help you with all this?"

She shook her head no again.

Dennis sighed. "Alright." With that, he came closer and sat on the bed a few feet away from her, then opened up the first aid kit and withdrew a small pair of silvery scissors. "Let me see your hand."

Even though his tone was gruff, she knew he didn't mean her any harm, so she timidly outstretched her palm closer toward him. He gently cut the tape at the top and bottom of the browning bandage.

"Now put that in the trash can."

Casey followed his pointing finger to a small canister next to the nightstand. After she'd tossed the old bandage, she observed the cut a little more closely. The bleeding had stopped, so it wasn't as deep as she'd originally guessed, after all the fuss that had been made over it.

"How does it look?" asked Dennis.

"Not bad," she hoarsely answered him. She was no stranger to worse wounds.

He tore open the edge of a tiny square packet containing a disinfecting wipe and then passed it to her, along with a tube of antibiotic ointment. Once she finished, she traded the items for the fresh strip of sterile gauze he held out.

"Lay that over the cut," he directed her, and again she did as she was told. The end result was not quite as neat as when Barry had dressed it, but only because he had tried to tape down the dressing without touching her skin more than necessary, but it did the job well enough.

"I'm gonna put the kit back where it belongs and finish up a few things. You go ahead and change your clothes. Just keep your area neat and put the soiled items inside that sack," he said, gesturing to the few other things he'd brought. "And wash off your feet with those wipes." Casey knew she must look confused, because he clarified, "There's clean clothes right there. They may not fit you very well but it's all I have."

She wasn't sure what else to say but "Thank you."

"Don't," he gruffly replied. "Don't thank me."

He left again before she could say anything else, and this time, he shut the door behind him.

She was relieved to free herself of that white sacrificial dress and the smelly clothes she'd been wearing for days. She looked over at the dresser and spotted her reflection in the mirror. Seeing her nearly naked body always made her feel ashamed, so she moved over to turn off the lamp and then maneuvered around in the orange glow from the nightlight, picking up the clothes he'd brought for her. She pulled on the laundry-fresh charcoal gray sweats and had to roll the waist band over on itself a few times to better fit her hips. The sweats and t-shirt seemed fairly similar to what she'd seen Dennis in that night when he burst into her room when she was crying.

_Was that really only a day ago?_

She had just picked up the black t-shirt from the bed when the door suddenly opened, and fluorescent light from the hall washed over her as Dennis entered. 

She might've screamed if her raw voice would have allowed her but she could only gasp and whirl around to hide her exposed belly, then covered herself as best she could with the bed sheet. It was still tucked in, so she couldn't pull it over herself quickly enough, and she wondered if he'd seen the scars on her back when she'd turned around.

"Oh Jesus, I'm sorry!" he said, immediately looking down at the floor. "I should've knocked. I forget these things. I haven't been around other..." He could barely get out a complete sentence, he was so upset. "The lamp was off, and I...I didn't hear you, so I thought maybe you'd already gone to sleep, and I was going to get your dirty clothes to wash. I...I'm so sorry. I —" He stopped short, and she saw the confusion when he glanced up at her again.

"Just go. Please," she sighed.

Dennis's eyes flitted over her again in the dim light, and he traced the tip of his tongue over his reddened bottom lip and then drew it under his teeth.

"Get out," Casey said a little more fiercely. She sounded braver than she felt.

But he wouldn't leave. Instead, he strode toward her.

"Don't!" She drew back.

Incredulous at what little he'd seen of the scars on her exposed back and shoulders, Dennis was speechless for a minute before he managed to growl out, "Who?" He was clearly shaken. "Who did that to you?"

"It was a car accident," Casey squeaked out. Her defensive shield immediately went up, even though he appeared to genuinely care, and she hadn't experienced that kind of concern from someone else for more than a decade.

"Don't lie to me," he roughly demanded. "Don't ever lie." 

"It's nothing. Please!"

"Nothing?" He scowled. "Then what —" Without warning, he reached up and ripped the sheet from her body, and she couldn't even cry out. At the sight of her slender form, he let out a throaty groan. "What is _that_?"

Caught by his intense stare, Casey stayed standing in her bra and sweats. Dennis's shoulders rose and fell with each heavy breath he took, and his pupils had enlarged so much that his eyes seemed almost black behind the lenses of his glasses. The years of abuse were revealed to him: the thick, raised purplish scars, the finger-shaped yellowing bruises on her upper arms, then down further at her belly, where the cigarette burns were, alongside a meshing collision of torturous knife cuts and healed-over marks where her uncle's belt buckle had torn into her flesh. Her own blade work was thin, silvery white, and hidden from view in a few uniform columns striped neatly down the length of her thighs.

To her complete astonishment, Dennis dropped to his knees before her, like he'd been sucker-punched in the gut.

"You...Patricia said you were impure. But all along," he breathed, "you were like us. Like _me_. I _knew_ you were different, but I didn't...I didn't..."

Casey quickly yanked on the t-shirt. Then she pulled the covers over herself as added protection, but she couldn't find anything to say to him. No one had ever seen her like that, except Uncle John. She'd never anticipated that Dennis, of all people, would find out and see her worst.

After a few more minutes of kneeling at her bedside, as though repenting before a goddess for what he'd done, he spoke again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have — I was wrong to look. It's just I've never known anyone else who —"

Slowly, she looked over at him, her rich brown eyes watery and full of sorrow. 

"I didn't know," he said then, almost a whisper. "God help me, I didn't know."

Casey knew how her body looked. She knew she would never be normal, forever maimed, and she assumed that Dennis was not only shocked but disgusted by her too.

"Who did this to you?"

"It's none of your business." She tried to harden her expression and ignore his pleading gaze, though her lip quivered.

He murmured with new awareness in his tone, "You're protecting someone." 

He understood all too well, because he'd done the same thing by protecting Kevin's mother from the consequences of her abuse. He kept it all a secret so that Kevin wouldn't lose the only family he had left. Yes, Dennis fully understood, and his empathy for her was so apparent now, even behind his tough-as-nails exterior.

"You aren't safe at home, are you?"

"I can take care of myself." She tried her best to sound aloof, but her heart ached, and she couldn't deny how much she really wanted him to hear everything and not judge her. She'd always felt so alone, so different from everyone else in her shame. But she'd never been able to talk about it, because no one would ever be able to identify with what had happened to her. But this man could understand. "Will you just let me go?"

"I will," he relented. "If you promise me that you'll be safe. No lies." 

"I'll be fine."

He got to his feet quickly. "Sure, you can take care of yourself. That's all I've _ever_ done is take care of myself and the others...for as long as I can remember. It's just that sometimes..." Dennis glanced over her form beneath the covers and almost seemed to flinch, as though the image of her scars had been burned into his brain. He swallowed hard, and she could see the lithe muscles of his neck contract, and then he continued, "Sometimes even when you need help, you won't let yourself ask for it. I know."

His honest assessment was on the mark, and Casey felt exposed in an entirely different way. A few quiet seconds passed, and her nerves kept mounting, but before she even realized it, she was telling him her untold truth, her most hidden secret.

"It's my uncle."

The muscles in his jaw flexed before he bowed his head to look at his shaking hands, which were tightening into fists.

"But he's all I have," she told him defensively. "He took me in after my dad died. He's not bad to me all the time."

"He's not supposed to be bad to you at _all_. He's supposed to take care of you."

Casey couldn't deny the truth.

"He did that to you? All of it?"

 _And so much more._ She nodded. 

With a low rumble that emerged from deep inside his chest, he began pacing the length of Hedwig's room. He rubbed his palm nervously over his scalp as he walked back and forth.

"He beats you?"

She had never been asked these questions before in her life, but telling Dennis didn't seem as hard as she'd thought. "Only when he's angry," she said. As if that somehow made it better. 

He grumbled. "He cuts you too? Or...how does he...?" Dennis stopped and turned to face the wall, sagging forward and holding himself up with his arms.

"Yes" was her only reply. It was almost impossible to put in words everything that John had done to her over the years.

"Hasn't anyone ever tried to help you?"

"Not really." The one time a teacher had seen a bruise on her wrists, she had lied, and it had all been easily explained away. From then on, her uncle made sure that any injuries he made would be easily covered by clothes from then on.

"And does he..." He paused. "Does he touch you?"

Casey would never have expected him to ask such an intimate question. Although it wasn't anyone's business but hers, she felt compelled to answer him truthfully.

"Yes," she choked out, tearless but plainly distraught. 

Using all his might to stifle an angry scream, Dennis strained out a closed-lipped groan through his clenched teeth. 

"If he _ever_  lays a finger you again, I'll —" He cut his words off there. No longer able to contain his feelings, he reared back, let out a raw, guttural sound, then focused all of his rage and strength in one swing of his well-muscled arm. He punched the wall so hard, Casey thought that he might have broken his knuckles. 

He started to pace again, his face flushing a violent red, and the veins in his forehead pulsing and prominent. Casey could see that he'd left behind a dented hole in the drywall next to one of Hedwig's colorings.

"Patricia was right about me," Casey admitted. "About what I am."

When he saw the thick tears rolling down her pale cheeks, he tried to compose himself. Though his fists were still tightly balled, he squatted close to the side of her bed again.

"No, she was wrong. So wrong, " he told her. "You're not impure. Do you understand?"

She nodded, unable to resist the draw of his profound blue gaze, and when they connected again, she realized the strange wanting inside her was for the safety of his arms. Despite that, she maintained her dignity and held herself still where she sat.

"You're not to blame," he repeated. "It's evil, what he's done. _He's_ impure. People who hurt others are impure. Not you. And I know after what's happened maybe I'm no better. But I'm trying to make this right."

Thoughts of every event of the past few days, what had been almost a week of near-constant fear, rushed into her mind, culminating with Patricia chasing her down in the hall and nearly ending her life, had it not been for Dennis.

"How _can_ you?"

"Maybe I can't," he muttered. He was still shaking; she could see it even as he moved toward the doorway. "If you want to leave, you can go. I don't have any say in what you do."

Casey drew in a shaky breath and pressed her lips together.

"But if you stay with me," Dennis told her in that deep, powerful voice of his, "He'll never hurt you again. Never."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to let me know if you can think of any tags or warnings that I should add to this story. Hopefully everyone knows no one in this story is a shining beacon of healthy behavior. But this isn't about perfect people. It's about two abused and incredibly isolated and lonely people who are learning how to interact with each other and process what they are beginning to feel. 
> 
> HUGE thank you to each one of you who are reading, shouting out, & offering your comments & kudos, because all of that is a huge help and a boost for me to keep writing.


	12. When Darkness Lifts and the Room is Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey meets another alter. Together, they share a meal and have a conversation that gives her some decisions to make about her future.

Music playing somewhere beyond the bedroom gradually drew Casey out of her deep sleep. She snuggled back into her downy pillow at first, reluctant to fully wake up from what had been the best rest she'd had in days. Maybe even months. But when she heard the distant clatter of dishes in what she guessed was the kitchen, curiosity pulled her from the comfortable nest she'd made in Hedwig's bed.

When she finally stirred, Casey was surprised to find that the door to the bedroom was still slightly cracked open, just as Dennis had left it after he rather abruptly told her goodnight. It was the first time, she realized, that he hadn't locked her in. 

The room was dimly lit by the fluorescence from the hall shining through the partially open doorway as well as the smiling tiger nightlight, which she'd forgotten to switch off before falling asleep. Despite that, everything seemed somehow brighter than before, as if the past week had been one long night.

Finally, a new day had come.

She thought it was morning until she checked the clock on the bedside table and found that it was half past one.

On her way out, she paused at the spot where Dennis had punched the wall and gently laid her hand over the indentation his fist had made. Her heart sped up a little, recalling his intense reaction last night. She didn't even have to try to remember what he'd said to her before he left. His words were just as clear in her mind as if he'd spoken them seconds ago — words that she'd never held hope of anyone saying to her in her life — that what had happened to her wasn't her fault. That he would keep her safe from harm.

Passing through the hallway where Patricia had tackled her was still a bit unnerving. But Casey didn't linger long on the dark thoughts about that moment, because suddenly she heard the man start to sing along with the music, an [oldies tune](https://youtu.be/Y1LLwC7N1h8) that sounded vaguely familiar.

The man rattled off a few bars and hit nearly every note perfectly. Surely Dennis wouldn't be bold enough to sing like that, she decided.

When she came in, he was facing the kitchen counter and smoothly swaying his hips with the rhythm while he mixed something up in a bowl. She'd never seen him like that before, so carefree and loose. Instead of unsettling her, it made her happy somehow.

Her dad liked to listen to music and sing sometimes when he cooked too, and Casey still had wonderful memories of him letting her sit near him on the countertop to watch him fix their meals. Sometimes, they'd even dance together in the kitchen, socked feet slipping all over the kitchen floor as they two-stepped to Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan.

The man didn't even realize she was there until she cleared her throat. He gasped and whirled around to face her with his egg-coated whisk dripping golden-yellow.

Immediately, his shocked expression disappeared, and he gave her a warm smile. "Well, it's _you_ , Sleeping Beauty." He reached over with his free hand to turn down the volume on the radio. "You caught me off guard."

"I'm sorry." She hadn't meant to startle him. 

"Don't worry about it," he said with a shrug. "Was I being too loud? Did I wake you up?"

She wasn't sure what else to say but, "I didn't know you could sing."

"I'm a man full of surprises," he joked.

 _Well, that's the truth,_ Casey thought.

"I've just been cooped up for way too long," he continued, "And I really felt like letting it out today, you know? Plus now we get to officially meet each other!" Then he clarified, "Well, technically, I've sort of met _you,_ but you haven't really met _me_. I'm Barry."

"Casey," she offered in return, adding her last name almost like an after-thought. "Cooke."

"Good to meet you, Casey." He reached out his right hand, immediately recalled that hers was bandaged, then he offered his left instead, so they could shake hands properly.

"Same here," she replied, and she meant it.

"You want an omelette? I have more than enough here for two." When she nodded her response, he started talking again. "I just woke up, myself, not too long ago, and I had the urge to do some real cooking since it's been so long."

Casey rubbed her hands over her bare arms as she tried to think of something to say in return, but he didn't wait long before continuing.

"Dennis said he took the whole week off from work and told me I can have the light almost all day today."

"Wow," Casey said a little awkwardly.

"Guess he's trying to make up for being an asshole. He was up until dawn organizing the office, so I kept him company for a little while, and we had a good talk."

"Yeah...the office thing was kind of my fault." She blushed. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, I _heard_." Barry's blue eyes sparkled. He couldn't hold back the grin spreading over his face. "Boy, did you give them one hell of a show! You ought to be proud."

Casey bit her bottom lip. What had happened was no less serious, but with Barry so clearly amused, fresh relief soaked away her worries. His friendly, open demeanor was already drawing her in, even though his energy practically took up the whole room. Still, nothing about Barry made her feel uneasy, so she took a seat at the table when he offered it.

It was so strange to think that the last time she'd sat there, she was having dinner with Patricia. That was a meal both frightening and uncomfortable from start to finish. How different things had become in a matter of days...

"How are you feeling by the way?" he asked with more serious tone. 

She thought about it and tried to give an honest answer. "I think...better. I got a lot of sleep last night."

"How's your head? And your hand?"

"Doing okay."

"God, that's a relief. You know, we were worried about you!" He barely paused long enough to let her consider a response. "Now, what would you say to adding some mushrooms, onions, green peppers...?"

It took her a second to realize he was asking what she wanted in her omelette. "Sure! Except no mushrooms...please."

"Ah!" He clicked his tongue. "A 'shroom-hater just like Dennis. How about some cheese? We've got cheddar or feta."

"Is it okay if I have both?" she requested timidly.

"Of course it is!" he told her. "I like your style."

He turned back to the stove to work on the meal, and Casey couldn't help that her attention was drawn to how nicely the loose gray joggers he wore fit him. On top of that, he was sporting an open, navy-blue hoodie and a white v-neck t-shirt. She could also see that the kitchen countertop was a mess with utensils, a half-stick of softening butter, bowls, and bits of diced vegetables scattered everywhere. Barry clearly didn't care about tidiness as much as Dennis.

"Not that I mean to joke about everything that's happened," he said over his shoulder, referencing his earlier comment. "I'm just glad to see you made it out of all that. Hell, I'm glad we _all_ made it out."

Casey wasn't sure of what would come of all this, but at least she had survived. Thinking about it a little more, she had to ask: "What about Patricia? Do you know if she —"

"Oh, she's out of the light. Banned. And she can stay out, as far as I'm concerned. I don't think you have to worry about her anymore. I just hope you don't lump _me_ in with all that nonsense."

"I don't _think_ I do," she admitted.

Barry turned around, leaned against the side of the cabinet, and crossed his arms with a gleam in his eye. "Well, I appreciate your honesty." He looked her over for a moment, as though making his own personal assessment, and then he turned back to sprinkle the final touches of cheese to melt before folding the omelette over. Humming along to the next song on the oldies radio station, he slid the omelette out of the pan with a spatula and then dropped the plate in front of her on the table. "You know," he said, catching her eye, "Patricia wasn't always like this. She had good intentions — once upon a time. Maybe she still does, deep down. I honestly don't know. But something warped inside her, and now she's gone too far down the 'Mommie Dearest' path."

That sounded spot-on to Casey.

"All that talk about sacrifice and proselytizing and judging everyone who hasn't suffered? No thank you. People who try to change everyone else's way of thinking for them ought to take a good long look in the mirror and start there instead of worrying about what other people do. That's my two cents anyway. Do you want OJ or coffee?"

"Juice," she timidly answered.

"You got it." He popped a slice of raw green pepper right from the counter into his mouth to snack on, then he got down a few glasses from the cabinet above his head. Before grabbing the juice from the fridge to pour for both of them, he urged her, "You can eat. You don't have to wait on me. Go ahead before it gets cold." He watched until she'd taken the first bite. "So, what do you think?"

"It's really good!" she told him truthfully. It was probably one of the best meals she'd had in this place so far.

She could see he reveled in the praise, because he replied, perhaps only halfway jokingly, "Damn right, it is."

Casey smiled at that. It was strange to see him so amiable and free in his expressions and movements. Barry was more talkative than any other alter. Even though she could barely keep up with his conversational pace, she didn't mind it at all. After years of avoiding conversations with most people, she found it was nice to be around someone as funny and sweet as Barry for a change.

After he finished cooking his own omelette, he sat down at the table across from her. "Well. Honesty time. I gave Dennis a piece of my mind for hours last night."

She could only imagine how that conversation went.

He gave her a serious look. "I want you to know he really _does_ feel bad about what he's done. More than bad."

Even though it was nice to hear out loud, Casey instinctively knew that about Dennis almost from the start somehow. The first thing he'd ever said to her in the parking lot on the night he'd taken her was an apology. It was a moment she'd never forget.

She must have been wearing her emotions on her face, because Barry told her between bites, "Now, don't you go feeling bad for him, alright? Dennis made his own bed on this one, so he deserves every bit of what he's feeling right now."

"Has he —" Casey paused for a minute. When she met his blue gaze again, she had to remind herself it wasn't Dennis looking back at her. "Has he ever done this kind of thing before?"

"No," he softly said. "Honestly, he's not the type. He's usually awkward and shy. I mean, he can barely talk to women at all, much less go around snatching 'em from parking lots. I'm still trying to process all this, myself. I mean, you're here in front of me because of what he's done. And you got hurt." His voice was more solemn than before. "Listen, if you want to go to the police about all this, then...then you have every right to do that. In fact...hell, that might be the only right decision here, as much as it kills me to say it."

"I don't want to do that," she replied. Maybe it was foolish of her, but she didn't want that fate for any of them. "I don't know if making every one of your — the others —" She stumbled over the right way to phrase it. "I don't want everybody to pay for a mistake that Patricia and Dennis made."

Barry leaned back in his chair, looking a little stunned. "You really must have as sweet a heart as he says."

That was something Casey never expected to hear. Had Dennis really told Barry that?

"But honey, what's been done here, it's  _literally_ a crime," he said. "I'm trying to decide if I should keep all this from our shrink. Patricia needs help. But if I do say something, it could get us all in a heap of trouble. We could lose this place, this job. They might cart us all off to an institution or something, I have no idea. I just never expected..." Barry was growing more upset, and it brought a pang to Casey's chest to see him nearly begin to cry.

"What they did was wrong," she acknowledged. "But Dennis saved me from her."

"I know, I know he did." He sniffed back his tears. "All this has just thrown me for a real loop. You know, I was worried sick for weeks before they kicked me out of the light. I knew it was coming, deep down. That something wasn't right. I should've known better. Patricia had been saying some weird stuff, but I thought for sure Dennis would never actually believe —" He shook his head. "Well, she's always had more influence on him and the Little One than on me or Orwell."

Casey remembered Patricia telling her how Barry didn't need her anymore. She'd shared that at the very same table.

"Maybe it was easier for us. We arrived a little later on the scene than the others. They were there for each other through some serious shit, and she's been like a mother to Hedwig and Dennis. And that guy, he's loyal to a fault. He trusted her and just made an incredibly dumb decision. Now I...I just don't know _what_ to do."

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Sweetie, you apologize too much — and for things you shouldn't. You've got nothing to be sorry about."

She didn't know how to respond to that. Apologizing had been the easiest way for her to avoid conflict for so long that it had almost become a natural reaction.

"You've been put through the ringer while I was out of the light, and I'm sorry for that. But I want you to know, you're safe with me." 

She took a deep breath. His words confirmed what she already knew from simply being around him, but hearing it directly was even more comforting. She didn't know why she felt so inclined to trust Barry. Casey never trusted anyone — and certainly not this quickly. But her gut was telling her that he meant what he said.

"It may be hard to believe after all this, but you really are safe with Dennis too," he continued, which was just more confirmation of what she felt to be true. "I want to believe he would never have let anything bad happen to you. No, I'm sure of it. He can't even hurt pests. Hand to God!" He raised his right palm up. "We had a little rat situation at that dump of an apartment where we lived before we moved here. That man set up humane traps all over the place so he could set them free later."

Casey's heart warmed at that. She had been raised in a hunting family, just like her father and his father before him. But once her dad passed away, too many parallels were drawn in her mind between witnessing the moment of his death and the look in the eyes of her first downed buck. So she'd made a decision to never take part in it since. Growing up, she couldn't even stand to see bugs suffering. One time, she waited for half an hour just to catch a large grass spider in the living room, so she could free it into the acreage behind the house before Uncle John could spot and smash it.

"I'll admit," Barry said, "Dennis is too rigid for me most of the time, and we clash a lot about keeping house, but he's a good person, and he works so hard for all of us. I love him for that." He kicked back in his chair. "Well, we've got some things to figure out, don't we?"

"Like what?" She wasn't sure exactly what he meant.

"Like what do you want to do next? You're no prisoner here."

When she took a little too long in thinking about her response, Barry filled the silence. "Now, Dennis wouldn't give me details, but he _did_ say that it might not be safe for you to go back home." He gave her a kind but knowing look. "I _think_ I might have an idea why."

Barry had been the one to change her shirt yesterday after her fall. He must have seen some of her scars or bruises. And yet, it seemed clear he hadn't told Dennis at all, and apparently Dennis hadn't discussed it with Barry either. She appreciated that so deeply.

"And if I'm right, you've got no reason to be ashamed," he said gently, and he reached across the table and took her hand in his for a moment. Casey saw his left knuckles were a little swollen and red from Dennis's hard punch to the wall last night, and she wondered if it hurt Barry now. "If anyone can understand, trust me. _We_ do."

She wished she could find a way to say how much his kindness meant to her, but the words wouldn't come to her.

"We talked it over a little last night. If you're ready to leave, I can drive you wherever you need to go." 

Casey's mind instantly flew to the idea of going to the train station and taking the first one that felt right, escaping for good. She could go to New York City and maybe one day find her mom's parents finally. Maybe she could hitchhike to the mountains of Colorado. The plains. Taos, New Mexico. Any place where she could learn from other artists and sell her works in a gallery. Maybe someday she could open up a small shop of her own. She could go anywhere...if she just had the money.

Something besides money held her back too, rooting her right there in that strange place with that strange man. She couldn't explain why, not even to herself. 

"You just think it over." Barry took their plates and tossed them a little haphazardly into the sink without bothering to rinse them off. With a wink, he told her, "Dennis can take care of the dishes later. We'll call part of his 'pay-off plan.'" 

When he sat back down, he asked her, "Don't you have school this fall? Or college or anything?"

"School's out now. I don't think I'll go to college, but I passed," she replied. "What day is it?"

"Saturday. 1st of July."

"Tonight's my graduation ceremony," she realized out loud.

"Well, don't you wanna go? Walk the stage with all your friends?"

"Fuck them."

Barry looked surprised at Casey finally letting loose, and he laughed out loud. Casey let herself laugh too, and it was a relief after the last few minutes of tense conversation. Not to mention, she felt free in a way, knowing she'd managed to make it out of school. All that was behind her now.

"Honestly, I don't blame you," he said with a grin. "I hated high school too."

"Why?" she asked.

"Oh, come on. I may have the best personality of this bunch, but the kids at school had already made their decision about Kevin. They never let me get away from that. We all did our best to fly under the radar and pretend to be him, but it didn't always pass. I've never been shy about who I am, and back when I came on the scene around our sophomore year, well...not everyone was accepting of that. And it didn't help that I wasn't the only one popping out to say hello."

She wondered how the others handled school. More specifically, one person was on her mind. "And what about Dennis?" 

"Dennis?" He shook his head then pulled off his beanie to scratch at the growing crop of shaved brown hair on his scalp. "Most of them didn't care for Dennis. He's always been just a little too...well, _Dennis._ Like I said before, he's a good guy, but he's not that easy to be around sometimes. He knows how to get his job done, handles paying all the bills, keeps this place spotless, remembers all the little things. But at the end of the day, unless he knows you really well, he just doesn't get how to carry a decent conversation."

He watched Casey nervously fiddling with the fork in her hands.

"There's nothing wrong with that, by the way — being quiet or shy," Barry told her. "You're fine just the way you are. Never let anyone tell you differently." Then he corrected himself. "Unless you're being an asshole. Then you might wanna listen." He grinned again, an infectious expression that transferred to Casey's face too. "The others at school found it a little hard to like Orwell because of that. Not that he's an asshole. He's just a bit of a know-it-all." He chuckled. "It always surprised the other kids when Kevin would go from never speaking up at all to suddenly blurting out all the answers and acting like he knew more than the teacher. That was all Orwell. Always had his nose in a book. Still does, any chance he gets. But he's happiest that way, so I don't blame him," he said. "Now Patricia, she's older than the rest of us, and she never came out at school. Well, I take that back. She did lecture some boys for teasing Kevin once, but as I understand the story, all that accomplished was getting Dennis into a fight. But thankfully, he's hardly ever lost one. Maybe never." His tone was sincere and soft when he spoke again. "He was always Kevin's champion. Mine too — even to this day. Even if I _am_ mad at him right now."

Casey knew she would be eternally grateful that Dennis hadn't lost the fight with Patricia. She supposed she could consider him her champion now too. Something about that thought made her want to smile again.

"And then of course, there's Hedwig. I already know you've met him, because he can't stop talking about you."

"What does he say?" Casey curiously asked. Patricia had reacted about that rather jealously, but she never told Casey exactly what Hedwig said to her.

"Well, at first, he was just bouncing off the walls about meeting someone new for a change. He says you're pretty, and that's true. But the main thing is that you're nice to him, and you'd be surprised how much it means to that kid."

Casey wasn't sure she could say she'd been kind to him. She lied and then trapped him so she could get away. Maybe when or if she saw him again, she could better explain or make it up him somehow.

"You met him, so you know he's only nine years old. Forever nine. He can be a mischievous little bastard sometimes, and he has too much energy for me. Tends to pop in and out whenever he pleases. But he's got a good heart, all said and done. The kids at school were really cruel to him. They'd pick on him, make fun of his lisp, trick him. That's probably why Dennis has such a soft spot for him. I admit I haven't always been the nicest to him, so it's no surprise that he took Dennis and Patricia's side in all this."

"And...who exactly is Kevin?"

"Kevin." Barry looked more sad than she'd seen him yet, and she almost regretted asking. "Kevin is...us. I guess. He's what you might call the original."

Casey nodded to indicate she understood.

"We all love him so much. You'd like him if you knew him. He's about the kindest, most sensitive person alive, you know? But...so full of pain." He stroked over the short whiskers of his morning shadow. "The world scares him. I guess it would after the stuff he's been through. He's never been sure of himself. You know, his dad left him? Just walked out one day, and his mom said he just never came back. His mom...she's just the worst. And the other kids his age bullied him like you wouldn't believe. Always calling us all crazy. He got so upset by junior year that — well, without Dennis to stop him, we wouldn't be alive today."

"Where is he?" She didn't mean to be rude, but she wasn't sure what was or wasn't rude to ask in regards to such a thing. "I mean, does he ever...?”

"He's sleeping," he said, nodding his head. "For a long time now."

"Why?"

Barry paused and stared at his empty glass on the table. "Last time he had the light, it was about...three years ago or so. He was heading back home — here — from a visit with his mother back in Massachusetts. Somehow, he got ahold of a handgun. None of us know to this day how he got it. He was sitting in the back of the bus. It was nearly empty, I guess. No one around but the driver and maybe a few others toward the front." He clasped his hands together in front of him and pressed them against his full pink lips for a moment. "And Kevin, he pulled out that gun...held the barrel right up to his heart..."

She swallowed hard, trying not to picture it.

Barry pressed his hand over his chest, taking a deep breath. When he looked back up and saw the sorrow inside Casey's deep brown eyes, he tried to give her a half-smile. "It wasn't the first time he tried it, hon. He just...can't handle reality. It's too much for him. But if I had to remember everything that he and Dennis and Hedwig went through, I don't know if I could handle it either," he said truthfully with another sigh. "Anyway, Dennis knew somehow. I guess because he's the main one in control all the time. He came out and put a stop to it. Then we all decided — for his own sake _and_  for ours — that something had to be done. He's been out of the light ever since, but we keep hoping that maybe one day he'll be strong enough to come back again."

"Is he in a chair with the others, like Hedwig was saying?" she probed after a few seconds.

"He is, but he's asleep. Even if he was awake, he doesn't like being conscious for long. It's easier for him if one of us takes over the 'steering wheel,' so to speak."

"That's so sad," Casey murmured.

"We all cope how we cope, and we do the best we can with what hand we're dealt, don't we?"

They were quiet for another minute, as Casey considered the weight of his words.

"So," she started tentatively. "What if I'm not ready to leave yet?"

He scrutinized her face. "You actually wanna stay in your personal underground nightmare?"

She couldn't believe she was halfway considering the idea any more than Barry could. Less than 24 hours ago, she'd been so frantic and desperate to get out, she'd risked her life.

"I'm not sure of anything right now. Except I know I don't want to go home. I don't have a job, and I only had enough money in my bag — wherever that is — to get me back to my uncle's house from the city."

"I probably shouldn't offer this," he said, "but I'm pretty sure Dennis can spare a bit from our savings to get you where you want to go. He owes you. Not like a bribe. We just don't want you going somewhere you won't be safe. I'd rather you have some of our money and get a fresh start. You deserve it."

Casey was shocked into silence again, her mind running over the possibilities. With an offer like that, depending on how much he was willing to give her, she might at least have enough to live on until she could find a job of her own, somewhere far away from her uncle. "Is it okay if I think about it?"

"It's your call. Just don't stay here too long. You don't want to get mixed up with us and all this. You've got to have a life of your own, kiddo," Barry told her. After a beat, he asked, "Well, what do you want to do in the meantime? Cause if you stay for a while, you ought to be able to come and go as you please."

"I don't even know," she admitted.

"Well, I'd love for you to come out and enjoy a day outside, but your face is all over the news right now, honey. You've gotta make sure the authorities know you're okay, or you're gonna end up getting my ass arrested anyway, even if you don't want to."

It was true. She needed to figure out a way to call the search off, but the depressing truth was that if she contacted the police now, they'd take her right back to her uncle. "I'm not 18 yet. They'd make me go back home." She recalled the time the police had caught her when she'd run away a few years back. John acted happy and relieved to have her home, but after the police left, she experienced the worst side of him she'd ever known.

"And I take it you don't want to tell the cops why you can't go back home?"

Casey knew it would seem ridiculous to anyone on the outside looking in, but she didn't want to turn John in. Sure, he probably ought to pay for all he had done to her, but the thought of having to tell absolute strangers anything so personal was abhorrent. And although she didn't want to admit it, she loved him still. He was her last living close relative. Only a few days shy of being free of her uncle's legal limits of guardianship for good, she felt she'd rather just leave it all in the past where it belonged. It would just be easier to wash her hands of him than try to get pay-back. "No. I can't do that."

"Okay," Barry said. "You get to make that call." He plucked at his bottom lip with his index finger, thinking hard.

"My birthday's soon though," Casey said. "It's on the 3rd."

"Only a few days away!" he exclaimed. "And the day before Independence Day. That fits perfectly, 'cause then you'll _really_ be free! Of course, we'd have so much more fun today if you could get outside with me. I _have_ to stretch my legs and get some sun, and I know you must want to too. Plus I'm feeling an itch to run up the balance on the credit cards. What do you think? Should we chance it?"

Casey sagged in her chair. She wanted to get outdoors just as badly as Barry, but if there was even the slightest chance she'd be spotted and sent back to John, she didn't want to risk it. Once her uncle had her back, he'd never let her out of his sight again. And after a week away from him, there was no telling what he'd do to her. " _You_ ought to get out, at least," she told Barry. "I don't mind."

Barry pursed his lips to one side again, turning over the decision in his mind. "Tell you what," he said after a moment. "This may be selfish of me, but I _need_ to get out of here for a while. And I promised Orwell some time for himself at the library this afternoon. What if I go out? I could pick you up some things. Would you feel comfortable making me a list of what you need?"

She shook her head no. It seemed weird to tell him what to buy for her. "I can't do that. I don't need anything."

"Sweetheart, I appreciate that you don't wanna be a stone in my shoe, but that's the last thing you need to worry about right now. You are wearing Dennis's pajamas, which barely fit you, and if I had to guess, you don't have a single thing you need here. I saw the bathroom; you don't even have a toothbrush. Just tell me."

She figured her other clothes would be washed and clean soon, and she could just wear that when the time came to leave, but having some basic toiletries for the next few days would be nice. "Well, a toothbrush and toothpaste would be great. And maybe..." She pressed her dry lips together. "Some lip balm?"

"Consider it done," he said, standing up and pulling back on his beanie. "What about clothes, makeup...any other particulars?"

"No," she protested. "Please don't worry about that."

"I am free as a bird for the first time in nearly two weeks. I don't have to do _anything_ I don't want to do today," Barry proclaimed happily. "You're just gonna have to trust my good taste."

 


	13. Behind Every Beautiful Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey explores her abductor's home and comes to a clear fork in the road of her fate. Which path will she choose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one but a favorite one for me. You'll get to know a little bit more about my take on each of the alters in the story. xoxo

 

 ****After their meal, Barry directed Casey to follow him through a side door from the kitchen. Casey had assumed it was a closet or a pantry but the door opened into a cozy decorated living area.

A round dark wood dining table was arranged nearest to the entrance where she and Barry both stood, and she wondered whether he ever had company enough to fill the six matching chairs that encircled it. To their left, a floor lamp lit up the corner where a plush tufted yellow wingback chair sat next to another bookcase similar to those in the office. Instead of books, however, these shelves were stuffed with identically sized, plastic-covered comics, along with one that had been framed and set apart from the others on the top row. A few collectible action figures, still pristine in their boxes, and several vintage cameras were displayed in the case as well, serving almost like bookends.

Next to the chair, Casey noticed a pale pink journal, which lay on top of a neatly-folded pile of about a week's worth of the Philly Inquirer on a side table. Beneath that, a woven basket on the floor nearly overflowed with balls of yarn of various colors along with a pair of bamboo knitting needles. 

On the opposite side of the room a long sectional sofa, upholstered in the same golden fabric as the chair, was flanked by identical tiered end tables. Matching silver lamps adorned the top tier of each, and the one on the right had a record player on its lower tier with a rack full of albums just below it. A soft gray chenille throw was draped over the back of the couch, and a few blue and gray accent pillows were scattered over the cushions to match the patterned rug spread over the navy blue glazed concrete floor.

Barry took the lull in their conversation as an opportunity to observe her with a pleased smile as she soaked in all the details of the room. "You like our digs, huh?"

She turned to him, and though she was quiet, her expression was all the affirmation he needed.

Casey had never really cared much for the few other houses' interiors she'd seen in her life so far; somehow, they always seemed too showy and fake. And Uncle John's house was the opposite with an eternally messy living room that boasted racks of antlers and stuffed deer heads mounted on nearly every available space on his walls. Ever since she had to leave the small house she shared with her father long ago, the house that her parents had bought and decorated together over the years of their relationship, she had never been anywhere else that felt like a real home. Not until she walked into this room.

"It begs for some sunshine and greenery, but I'll take it over any other place we've lived so far. You should have seen it before! God, it was gloomy," said Barry. "And we couldn't afford to fix it up until we had the job a few years."

"It's so nice," she told him.

"Well, thank you! I like to think so."

"You decorated it?"

"Call it a collaboration," he said. "For Kevin's sake. See, he wanted a place that felt happy, so that was the goal when I started with the design. Yellow's not exactly my favorite color, but it's _his_ , so I figured I could work with that. The comic book touch is for him too. Maybe it's a little kitsch. It's no Lichtenstein, that's for sure, but I think I managed to make it tasteful." He gestured at one of the printed superhero canvases on the wall above the wingback chair. "If Orwell had his way, this whole place would look and smell like an antique store." Barry was good-naturedly teasing. "But we compromised on the furniture. Mid-century modern will _never_ be out of style."

"And what about...the others?" she asked curiously.

Barry drew his lips to one side with an amused expression. "You mean...Dennis?"

She shrugged nonchalantly and turned away from him to feign interest in the vase of bright yellow mums on the table beside her, the same kind of flower that Dennis had laid at her bedside when she first arrived.

"We clashed on it at first, to be honest. I'd buy some pillows or a painting, and the next thing I knew, he'd take it back to the store. Everything has to be within the budget for him. And spotlessly clean. And matching." His tone grew more exaggerated as he went down the list of Dennis's requirements. "In a word, _boring._ But we eventually came to a truce when I made the design more symmetrical for his taste, and then I let him win on the white walls he wanted, because anything else would just drag the place down. I mean, you saw the kitchen and the hall. Drab as hell. But we're working on it room by room. It's a process."

Casey figured that's why drywall had been recently nailed up in the room where she was stowed away for a week. Maybe it was the next project.

"Dennis cut and installed all the trim and crown moulding. He's handy like that. Really pulled the room together. And he built those shelves there too." Barry pointed to three rows of long shallow wood shelves that were secured into the wall just above the longest section of the sofa. Each row held an assortment of different sizes and colors of picture frames that somehow all complemented one another.

"Patricia just went along with whatever we all wanted. And Little One isn't allowed near Kevin's comic book collection, so of course, Dennis insisted that he should get his own bedroom out of the deal. Like the rest of us don't deserve a room of our own too." He rolled his eyes and grinned, and Casey could tell he wasn't really complaining. "We put up some of his art in here though." He gestured again at the wall of shelved pictures. "Anyway, I thought you might want to hang out in here for a change. God knows what you've been doing besides twiddling your thumbs all this time. You can read or listen to music or watch something online, and there's a few movies in there too," he said, nodding toward the tv stand. "Anything else you need or want?"

She shook her head. "I'll be fine." She was used to being alone. It would just be entirely different being alone in this situation.

"Well." Barry pulled his phone from his pocket to check the clock on the lock screen. "It's after three already, so I'd better get a move on. I think you pretty much know where everything is in here. There's another bathroom just through there if you need it," he said and pointed at the only other door in the room other than the one leading back to the kitchen. Then he hesitated. "Are you _sure_ about this? I can stay. Orwell can go to the library another day."

She wasn't actually sure of anything, not even about the way that it gnawed at her to lose the comfort of her new friend's company for a few hours, but she assured him again, "I'll be fine."

"You know what? Hang on just a sec." He strode away, and only a few minutes later, he returned with a pad of paper and a sketch pen in hand.

"It's not that I don't trust you," he said in a serious tone, and for a second, Casey assumed he was going to lock her up again. "I just want to say, I really do hope you'll stay. At least until it's safe for you." Barry's kind expression spoke volumes of sincerity. "Although I wouldn't blame you if you decide to go while I'm away. But just in case, take this." He pulled off the pen's cap with his teeth and used his right hand to scribble down his name and phone number on the corner of the first page of the sketchpad. Then he messily tore it and put it in her hand. "Keep that on you. And if you ever need anything, now or later, just call. Text. Whatever. Alright?"

"Alright," she said, and then she glanced down at the phone number before folding it and pocketing it in the sweats she wore, as if it were no big deal. Inside, though, she was reeling. She could never have imagined any of this happening yesterday. By all accounts, she hadn't even thought there would _be_ a today.

He paused once more at the doorway, as if thinking better of leaving her alone, but then when he finally spoke again, he assumed his usual easy-going manner. "Before I go, how do I look?" He dipped his chin and struck a pose for her. "The truth."

"You look..." She tightened the muscles of her stomach to discourage the odd feeling that brewed inside her when she scanned over his body. "You look great."

"You sweetheart. Ciao." With a satisfied grin and a quick wink, he disappeared from the doorway.

Casey listened to the tapping echoes of his footsteps in the hall as he headed around the corner, and then everything faded back into near silence again, other than the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Throughout their entire interaction, she could scarcely believe any of it was really happening, and she was still a little dazed. Yesterday, she'd been so desperate to escape, she would've clawed her way out. But then last night, Dennis had saved her and was as tender as she guessed he ever allowed himself to be. He took such care of her. And he saw her scars and promised to keep her safe.

Everything had changed.

So now the unexpected desire to stay was pitted against her logic, which urged her that no matter what she felt she ought to run fast and far away.

While trying to catch up with her racing thoughts, she moved over to check out the shelves above the couch, the ones that Dennis had made.

Hedwig's artwork stood out to her first. One was a tiger, vivid and flashy, and the other was a scene that stirred something inside her, though she didn't know exactly why. It featured a small sunny yellow house surrounded by a crayoned yard of grass and shrubs full of flowers, and a tall leafy tree growing beside it with a swing hanging from one of its limbs, a bright blue sky above it all.

She guessed it had to be a picture of a home from Hedwig's imagination and surely not somewhere from their past, if it was true that this was the best place they'd lived yet.

The other frames were filled with photographs in both color and classic black-and-white. A few were of eye-catching sights like the One Liberty skyscraper, a rocky waterfall surrounded by lush green woods, and a picture of some place with rows of brilliant graffitied columns. Others were simple shots of things like the close-up details of bricks in a building, a broken stained-glass window, and a metal sewer grate, puddled over with falling rain and reflecting the lights of the city.

The camera had managed to draw out beauty from the amazing to the mundane, and she wondered who had taken these pictures. 

The one she decided that she liked the most was a shot of Race Street Pier. The picture looked like it had been taken at dawn with the sun just beginning to illuminate the rising mist above the water beyond a solitary empty park bench. It was a moment of magic captured in a single frame. 

The old building around her intermittently made settling noises, but one particularly sharp creak prompted Casey to hop up from the couch and peer cautiously out of the kitchen door to make sure no one else was there. Being so near to the hall, the place where the final showdown between Dennis and Patricia had been, made her uneasy, so she retreated back to the coziness of the living room. 

After wrapping the gray throw blanket around her for some warmth, she settled onto the floor and started sorting through the small rack of record albums underneath the end table. Casey was no stranger to vinyl. Her dad hadn't let go of any of her mom's old possessions after she passed, including her record player. The collection was one of the few things that John allowed Casey to save from her parents. When her thoughts got too loud inside her head or when the world seemed too bleak, she could always retreat to her room, pull on her headphones, and escape inside the music that she knew her mother, Cassandra, had grown up listening to. Although her dad had always leaned more toward folk and old country music, Cassandra had eclectic tastes and had curated a good-sized collection from all sorts of genres and bands: punk, classic rock, new wave, shoegaze, and more, although her favorite band of all time appeared to have been The Smiths.

The majority of the music that the man owned was unfamiliar to her, like classical music, jazz, and even opera, which she wasn't sure she would like at all. She ended up pulling a Miles Davis album called "Kind of Blue" from its jacket, since she'd heard his name before, and after carefully setting the needle on the first track's groove, she sat for a moment and tried to guess who listened to this. Barry? Or Orwell? Maybe Dennis, although he didn't seem the type to enjoy jazz. In fact, she wasn't sure she could picture him enjoying music much at all.

As the trumpet and accompanying piano interplayed, something about the song made her recall how her dad had told her that on the outside, he and her mother couldn't have seemed more different. Cassandra had only come to the bar where his band was playing on that fateful night they met because the friends she'd been visiting while in town had practically dragged her there. She was a cultured, college-educated girl who grew up in New York City, and he was a Pennsylvania country boy. Jackson came from a small, poor, single-parent family, and he worked at the same roofing company where he'd been since high school, while Cassandra grew up wealthy, and she'd never lacked opportunity. But they found common ground where it was important.

 _"None of the other stuff ever mattered,"_ her dad told her more than once, _"because our hearts recognized each other the moment we met. And that's how you'll know someday, Casey-Bear. Don't forget that. Money, looks...all of that can go away. But once you find your soul's best friend, hang on tight."_

Thinking about it now, she knew she couldn't leave those few precious keepsakes like her mother's records and her parents' old photo albums at her uncle's house forever. They were some of the last connections she had left with her mom and dad. Those mattered more to her than any other possession in the world, and when it was finally time to go, she told herself that she'd find a way to go back and retrieve those belongings.

After a few minutes longer, Casey moved over and slid open the two doors of the tv stand to find out what sort of movies the alters owned. All of them had been arranged facing the same direction and organized by alphabetical order. Dennis's doing, no doubt. Again, most of his collection was fairly foreign to her, although a few titles were familiar...dramas, comedies, kids' movies like "The Goonies," and even some classics.

She instantly recognized the film "To Kill a Mockingbird," because she had read the book with the rest of her junior high English class, and after they finished it, the teacher brought in the movie adaptation to watch over the course of a few days. The movie had touched her deeply. The protagonist had also lost her mother early, and her name was the same as her dad's old dog, Scout, which made her curious if Jackson had loved the book once too. Atticus Finch was a literary father figure that reminded her so much of the best parts of her own dad, who always treated everybody kindly and tended to think the best of people, no matter who they were or where they came from. " _You never really understand a person until you consider things from their point of view."_ And the character Boo Radley, perhaps more than any other, had made an impression and stayed with her ever since.

The top row was comprised of the entire set of Marvel superhero movies from "Iron Man" up to the newest releases. The peculiar thing was that the last couple of years of the DVDs were still unopened and wrapped in plastic, as if they had been purchased and set aside for later.

It took her a minute longer to realize that these movies were probably for Kevin. A current of sorrow ran through her at the thought. Even after three years of Kevin being out of the light, asleep since the last attempt on his own life, one of the alters still bought movies for him in the hope that, one day, he'd come back and be able to watch them all for the first time.

Casey stood up and swallowed back the unexpected urge to cry. She decided she wanted to know more about who Kevin was, so she walked back across the room to see his comic collection a little more closely. 

Now that she was nearer, the comic book that had been set aside from the others and framed behind glass immediately stood out. A huge gray-skinned man with bulging muscles leapt across the cover, and the title read: "Marvel Comics Group Amazing Adventures, featuring The Beast." Along the bottom in bold yellow print, it read: "Lo! A beast is born!"

Was the Beast that Patricia kept talking about simply a mutant superhero from one of Kevin's comics? Just fiction and nothing more?

Thinking of Patricia now, she remembered the pink journal she'd seen earlier on the side table and moved to pick it up when a small headline on the newspaper below it grabbed her attention.

**"Missing Teen Believed Abducted, Possible Runaway."**

Immediately, Casey snatched up the paper to pore over the short article, which briefly mentioned potential foul play in her disappearance, due to an assault reported at the same time when she had gone missing. Claire's father must have been the one to call the police. No one had caught sight of Dennis or the car apparently. For whatever strange reason, she was thankful for that, although she wasn't sure how both Claire and Marcia possibly missed it.

"The family has not seen or heard from her since the time of her disappearance on June 24th around 9:00 p.m. on the 1600th block of Locust Street." A classmate present at the party she'd attended before she went missing described Casey as being "troubled" and "a loner." 

"Oh, _thanks_ , Claire," she said aloud, automatically assuming it must have been her. "Blow me."

After mentioning her stats like height and weight, the article closed with an issued statement from her uncle.

"'I'm just praying for a miracle,' says John Cooke, uncle and guardian of the missing girl. 'She's all I have left in the world. If anyone knows anything at all about where my niece could be or who might have taken her, I beg you to please come forward.'"

Next to that, wrapped in a square of text, was her own picture: a stoical dark-haired girl, staring up from the page at herself, where she now sat in the home of her abductor.

Casey dropped heavily into the chair and pulled the soft gray throw blanket around her shoulders more tightly. All her life she'd tried to remain invisible and now practically the whole city knew her face. She believed Barry about her disappearance being all over the news, certainly, but there was something so strange about seeing the printed proof of it in front of her. And now, after reading what Uncle John had said, she also felt guilty for so readily embracing the idea of abandoning him, even though she knew what he would do to her if he got her back home again. He might wait hours or he might wait months, but it would start again. It always did.

She decided to distract herself from those thoughts by picking up the journal and exploring the pages filled with perfect penmanship.

At first, the entries were mainly short and boring details of Patricia's day while she was in the light, interspersed with growing concerns about Kevin and the rest of "her boys." The deep desire to mother them was clearly a strong and continuing motivation, but the majority of the first quarter or so of the journal offered no clues as to where that motivation had warped this seemingly sweet, matronly alter into the controlling and zealous person whom Casey had met. 

Patricia's personality quirks might have been considered charming in other circumstances. She often wrote out new "fun facts" she wanted to remember, like trivia about animals, as though she wanted something to use to connect better with Hedwig and Dennis. She even scribbled down a few things she found interesting about Dissociative Identity Disorder, like a case she'd apparently read about where someone else with D.I.D. had a personality with high cholesterol.

Then as Casey continued to skim over the pages, she saw Dennis's name and something about how he had been so upset that he called in sick, which he'd never done in all the years he'd worked.

Immediately, she backed up a little, poring over each line more closely as she read Patricia's sharp cursive handwriting. There she discovered exactly what had happened.Â

A high school class had come here on a field trip, although it wasn't mentioned where "here" was, exactly. Two teenage girls had run up to Dennis, out of sight of their teachers, and told him he was "hot."

Patricia was clearly displeased by that. Something about it bothered Casey too, but she didn't know why in the world it should. Dennis was already unnerved by two total strangers talking to him, but when they told him they thought he was attractive, he must have been so flustered and embarrassed.

Then one of the girls had taken his hand suddenly, holding tight, and forced it underneath her shirt. Then the other one pulled up her shirt and did the same thing, all while Dennis stood there, probably too shocked to know what to do. Before he could react, they ran off laughing to another group of girls from their school, and as they left, all of the alters made a grab for the light in response to what had happened, creating chaos that only further embarrassed Dennis when he finally managed to get control again and head back home.

Although Barry tried hard to shrug it off as a teenage dare, it was clear that all of them were affected by what happened. Patricia was downright disgusted. She devoted more than a paragraph full of choice words to describe how angry she felt about what the teenagers had done to Dennis.

Casey actually agreed with some of what Patricia said about that day's events. Those girls had absolutely no right to do that even if it _was_ a dare. Not to mention, it could've gotten Dennis in serious trouble. Casey knew that the girls probably had no idea of the potential effect their actions could have nor could they have known that their target of choice had been a victim of abuse. Still, she almost hated them for it.

Thick tears gathered on the rims of her large brown eyes, reading how strong, detached, bearish Dennis, Kevin's champion, the protector, couldn't even leave his bed anytime he was in the light that night and the following day. The whole incident had shaken him to his core, and apparently, it had set Patricia off too, because the following pages revealed her downward spiral into fanaticism. It began with trying to find a better way to take care of all of the other alters and bring Kevin back to share the light.

"This is one affront too many. It's clear to me now that the world is unfit for my boys," she wrote. "Dennis has been through too much. He's carried the load for far too long. It's time for a new protector."

Patricia seemed to have gotten the idea from the fictional worlds in which Kevin had always escaped since he was a child: comic books and movies about heroes and villains. Soon she began a desperate search through psychology, religion, and literary archetypes for a solution, a "savior." 

Patricia decided that in order for a new savior to emerge, a sacrifice would be required, not uncommon in mythology and ancient stories of many cultures. At first, she believed that self-sacrifice might be the only way to bring forth the savior, but that idea soon changed into the sacrifice of others. She genuinely seemed to believe that the world would be better if all of the "impure" were purged, those who lived "unbroken and asleep" and hurt others by their mere existence. Only those who had been purified by suffering truly deserved to live, and it would be a mercy for others to die. She considered the girls who had touched Dennis to be nothing less than villains, totally unaware and un-evolved.

The writing recorded her growing need to seek out other documented cases of D.I.D. and even research about the placebo effect in order to further prove the possibilities of the mind being able to change the body's physiology. "This must mean we truly are what we believe we are."

Then the entries suddenly stopped. There was a span of over six months where Patricia wrote nothing at all. Casey guessed it was during this time that she had been kept out of the light by the others due to her increasingly wild ideas. But then she returned to record a new journal entry from only a few weeks ago, writing that Hedwig had come to her aid, and his powers with the light seemed especially useful to her. Dennis, too, had been swayed "to see the truth," and Barry and Orwell were then banned from the light.

Furthermore, it seemed that the Beast wasn't just a figment of Patricia's imagination, as Casey had begun to assume, nor was he a separate person who they'd been planning to pick up from the train station physically. He was the seventh alter, and Patricia proclaimed that he was already in existence, because she had met him while she was banned. She described him quite similarly to the picture of the Beast on the comic book cover that sat displayed on the shelf beside her now. He was a new superhuman identity created because Patricia believed so deeply in it. She maintained that he would protect them all, including Dennis, and that his presence, once fully emerged, could even bring Kevin back to the light. Finally, her boys would once again appreciate her for all she had done, and they would live in a safe world where no one could ever hurt them again.

Casey's heart sped up as she read about a very recent day when Patricia sat somewhere overlooking a school and waited until she had found "the one," a young girl with long brown hair who was "virginal, beautiful, and unbroken. The perfect sacrifice."

 _"I knew the moment I saw you,"_  Patricia had said only yesterday.

She was describing Casey.

Goosebumps broke out over her bare arms. All of the pieces of the puzzle began to fall together. That night when Dennis sat in the parking lot in Barry's car outside the restaurant, he wasn't there by accident, merely waiting for a prime opportunity of the first girl to stumble across him. Casey was the true target all along. It was never a coincidence. She'd been chosen before she even knew it. Exactly as Patricia had been babbling on about, she was meant to be a sacrifice.

Casey's hands were shaking and almost numb, and the room felt colder to her now. She threw down the journal and stood up, scarcely able to take in a proper breath. The sounds of the trumpet playing on the jazz record seemed distorted inside her ears, and the room slightly spun around her. She tried to calm herself by questioning whether it was worth being frightened of something that surely  _had_ to be fictional. However, Patricia's beliefs and her actions were very real, and even if her original motivations had come from a loving place, Casey had experienced the end result firsthand only the night before.

Was there really any guarantee that Patricia was truly out of the light for good? If she'd been banished once before and managed to come back, surely she could do it again. And what if the man believed that he was actually capable of becoming the Beast? Surely it had to be delusion and nothing more. Still, Casey's mind was practically screaming that she'd been a fool to stay any longer than necessary.

Taking in slow lung-filling breaths, she considered what options she had. She could leave now freely while Barry was still away and take the risk of being forced to go back to her uncle if she was caught before coming of age. Or she could stay and rely only upon the hope that what Dennis and Barry had told her was true, although if they were taken out of the light somehow, or if Hedwig was coerced by Patricia to let her take control again, it could be the end of the line for her.

Her feelings were so conflicted. She began to judge herself for the empathy she allowed in her heart for Hedwig, the newly-forged friendship she had made with Barry, and the unanticipated and unnameable sort of attachment she was beginning to feel for Dennis.

 _Stockholm Syndrome,_ Casey suddenly thought. Despite all that had been said last night and all they had discussed in the kitchen, the idea of possibly being brainwashed in order to feel something for her captor was enough to settle it in her mind. She didn't want to be that sad-eyed girl forever missing in the newspapers.

Wasting no more time, she rushed back to the bedroom beyond the office to grab her combat boots from where they'd been sitting by the bed all week, only to discover that all of her clothes, even her military jacket, which had been missing since she'd first come here, had all been washed, dried, and pressed overnight. They were folded and resting on top of the flawlessly made-up bed, waiting for her. She supposed Dennis knew that, even though he promised her safety, she would run. Maybe even that she _should_ run.

Perhaps Barry knew too, and he had just been lying about bothering to buy her a toothbrush. Maybe it was all just a cover to allow her time to wise up and get away. And if the man who abducted her was inclined to release her, she chided herself that she'd be an idiot to stay, no matter what her gut was telling her.

She stripped down and pulled on her clothes: the destroyed dark jeans, the hoodie, the checked flannel, the jacket. Still, she didn't forget to pocket the paper with Barry's phone number on it. Then when she reached down to grab her boots from the side of the bed, she found her canvas messenger bag had been returned too. 

Poring through it to see if anything had been taken, she realized that only her phone was missing, which she guessed had been destroyed or thrown out somewhere to hinder any possible tracking early on. But in its place in one of the inner pockets of her bag, she found something poking out of her sketchpad. Pulling it out, she discovered ten crisp twenty dollar bills had been tucked into the middle like a bookmark. Upon opening the page where the money had been carefully pressed, she found a note, neatly printed, letter by letter:

"I'm sorry." 

Two words. Only two. The first words he'd ever uttered to her and apparently his last words as well.

Something tore at her as her eyes traced over the letters a few more times. That was it? That was all he had left to say to her, after all that had happened?

Steeling her heart, Casey forced herself to pull her bag over her shoulder and walk out of the room, trying to remain numb to the memories of all their interactions. She still felt cold, even with her familiar layers on again.

After the turn of the corner at the end of the hall, the area that had been a complete mystery to her was now revealed. Before her lay a dark and intimidating corridor lined with pipes of various sizes. Dim lights were dispersed evenly down its length, although not all of them had bulbs. From where she stood, it wasn't easy to tell where it ended or if it just went on forever, but she set off at a quick pace. 

About fifteen yards in, she came to an intimidating, black-barred barrier. At first, she thought she was trapped, but the padlock securing the gate had been left open.

 _For me,_ she realized as she set the lock aside and passed through the opening. Barry had left it unlocked, surely.

Not far after the gate, an opening jutted out to the left of the corridor into an area with about twenty vented metal lockers with labels on them, like a changing area. On the wall nearby, there was the same first aid kit that Dennis used to change her bandage the night before. The recollection of that moment and all that came after it tugged at her. He told her he would protect her, and her heart felt that he spoke the truth. And everything that Barry said mere hours ago at the table where they'd shared an afternoon breakfast swayed her even more.

_"He would never have let anything bad happen to you."_

_He saved me._

Her belly gave into that same, odd fluttering she felt whenever Dennis was near as she remembered the blue of his eyes when they looked at one another, inside each other, like he understood her in a way that no one else ever had or could.

If he'd really been determined to keep her captive, the man would never have left, or given her clothes back, or kept everything unlocked, or put money in her bag for no reason, she assumed, other than to give her a chance to get far away.

And that note. That simple two-word note.  _"I'm sorry."_

He apologized and gave her a chance. He was setting her free. So she had to keep going. She _had_ to find a way out of this place, she told herself. But asÂ she continued forward, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was leaving safety behind rather than moving toward it.

Every now and then, she turned and peered back when her imagination began to conjure the frightening image of someone creeping along behind her, watching from the darkness.

When new light appeared ahead, Casey sped up her pace to reach where the corridor widened into a different section of the building. High above her head as she entered, small rectangular windows lined each side of the large room, and although the glass was old and dirty, it allowed in a bit of light in the final hours of the day. 

That was when she realized that black metal cages were all around her with bars that spanned the length from the floor to the ceiling, almost like prison cells. The odor from the hall got even stronger, earthen and ripe with ammonia, and she nearly had to hold her breath.

Every dark corner and every creaking sound felt like a potential predator at her back, ready to shove her into one of the cells or attack her. Beyond the dim cage-flanked space surrounding her, an exit sign glowed red in the distance, and the moment she saw it, she broke into a run, even though the bump on her head throbbed with each hard pulse of her heart. 

Freedom was almost here.

Then just as she was reaching for the doorknob, a great low rumbling sound, an inhuman growl, came from just beyond the door, and she screamed out in terror. Rather than forging ahead any farther, she turned back around in a moment of adrenaline-flushing fear that outweighed any remaining logic. Her imagination ran with the idea that the growl she heard came from the Beast himself. She felt that he was surely behind her now, running fast to catch her. She could picture him vividly: huge and muscular with thick gray skin, long claws, and sharp teeth, ready to devour her. 

At one point as she ran, she tripped on her loose bootlaces, landing hard and skidding from her momentum on her exposed knees over the rough cement. Even though it hurt like hell, she scrambled to her feet immediately and continued her flight back down the corridor, past all those frightening cages, the lockers, the open gate, then around the corner and through the hall again, back to the only safety she could think of in this strange place: Hedwig's bedroom. 

Once there, she threw down her bag, slammed the door shut behind her, and worked to scoot the entire dresser, gerbil cage and all, over the few feet of carpet until she'd managed to block off part of the door. Then she ran behind the bedside and switched on the tiger nightlight to chase away the darkness. She tried to still her frenzied breathing so she could listen better for any signs of whatever she was sure was pursuing her.

But there was nothing. No footsteps. No sound at all. Just Casey alone in Hedwig's bedroom, trying to count through each inhale and exhale to force her panic into submission.

 


	14. The Boy With the Thorn in His Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry returns home.

It took a long while before Casey felt calm enough to think clearly again. The soft scrabbling noise of the gerbils foraging through their shavings made her realize, with some guilt, that Hedwig hadn't been in the light all day. No one had fed his pets. Although her knees were sore from her fall, she forced herself up to her feet and went to check on them. 

The watering tube inside the cage was still half-full but just as she guessed, they were out of food. A quick search of the dresser's top drawer yielded exactly what she was seeking: food pellets and a seed mix tucked next to a bunch of colorful pairs of socks. She sprinkled a bit in their tray and some right in front of the chubbier gerbil. When he picked up one of the pumpkin seeds from the shavings with his tiny paws and began to nibble at it, he closed his eyes in a kind of bliss, and Casey found herself unexpectedly smiling. She stood for a while to watch them focus on the one thing they'd been waiting for all day.

It was soothing to be around animals again. Casey hadn't had a pet since Scout, who had passed away at twelve years old. Before she died, she always slept next to Casey in bed, guarding and occasionally grumbling if her uncle ever tried to come in her bedroom during the night. Despite that, John still put up with old Scout because he had a soft spot for the dog who'd been a loyal companion on many a camping and hunting trip with his brother. But once Scout was gone, he wouldn't allow Casey to have another pet. Nothing would ever come between them again, he told her.

After Scout passed on, there wasn't a soul left for Casey in the whole world. No one to sleep beside her and keep her safe from the monsters in the world. No one to hold or hug back and let her know she was safe and loved...innocently, purely loved. No one there to quell the hollowing storm inside her during the times when she missed her father so much, she could scarcely breathe. 

It was that same sort of hollowness, in a way, that had grown with every step she took down the corridor when she tried to leave the man's home earlier, and although she wasn't exactly sure what that meant, she knew she didn't want to have to feel it again.

Maybe she _was_ a fool. Some small part of her still pushed at her to leave before he came back, because she was still frightened of Patricia and the possibilities of what her belief in the Beast could mean. But more than anything, Casey had to admit to herself that she wasn't ready to let go of the first genuine human connection she had since her dad.

When she looked over at the clock on the bedside table to check the time, a peculiar realization struck her. Last night, when she'd been watching the hours go by, it was because she was terrified of what would happen when the man returned and what her fate would be.

But now as she counted the passing minutes, she was waiting for him to come back so that she could feel the comfort and security that his presence now inexplicably brought her. 

 

X X X X X

 

It was past nine o'clock before she heard noise outside the room: the crinkling sound of plastic sacks and the humming of a familiar tune as he walked down the hall.

"I'm back," Barry brightly sang out. "Are you still here?"

She'd left the gate wide open when she plowed through it on her frenzied flight back to Hedwig's room, so maybe he thought she might be gone. Her voice didn't seem to want to work just yet. She could hear the tapping of his heels moving from room to room while he called her name a few times.

"Barry," she finally managed to squeak back.

He moved toward the sound of her meek voice in Hedwig's bedroom. "Casey? What are you doing in there? Are you alright?"

"I think so," she replied through the door.

"I thought maybe you flew the coop!"

Casey's desire to see Barry again won out over her concerns, and she began pushing back the dresser until the way was cleared. When she opened the door, he was standing there, waiting with more than a few shopping bags in the floor at his feet, and she felt a sense of relief wash over her to see him. For the first time in a long time, the hours she'd spent alone were lonely. She had actually _missed_ him. And she never missed anyone. Not anyone alive, anyway.

Barry looked her up and down, letting his concerned gaze linger on her scraped knees through the holes in her jeans. "You blocked the door?" he asked with some confusion. He didn't say anything about her wearing her own clothes. He must have known Dennis gave them back to her, she guessed. Maybe Barry even knew about the money Dennis gave her...the note... "I didn't mean to stay gone that long, but...what happened?"

"I - I heard something."

"What, in here?" Barry's eyes widened. "What did you hear?"

"No. Out there." She pointed. "At the end of the hall. It was like..." She felt more embarrassed with every word. The whole thing seemed more far-fetched now that Barry was back. "I thought I heard a growl...or something."

"Ohh," he said as though he immediately understood. "So you _did_ try to leave."

"Yeah," she confessed, looking down at her feet. She wasn't sure what reaction to expect from him, but she didn't want to see his face in case he was angry.

"I think you just went too far," he told her. "There's a side exit just past the lockers. I didn't tell you about it because...well, you said you were gonna stay, but I figured if you left, you'd see it. It leads right outside to the parking area."

Casey barely registered what he said about the exit. "Was it the Beast?"

"Is that why you came back and hid in Little One's room?"

"Was it?"

"Not a chance." Barry gave her a half-smile. "There's no Beast here, sweetie. That's all made up. He doesn't exist, alright? It's not possible."

Her nerves were worn, and she demanded more strongly, "Then what did I hear? What's out there?"

"Would you let me show you?"

She stayed rooted where she was as she pored over the possibilities in her mind of what he could be doing.

"If you're still here, I think that means you trust me," he suggested. "Am I right?"

"I mean, I  _want_ to trust you," replied Casey honestly.

"That's a start. Listen, I can show you there's nothing to be scared of here. Not anymore. Remember, Patricia is out of the light. And the Beast isn't real, no matter what she thinks."

She paused, looking deeply into him for the truth. Inside his eyes, she found her answer, so when he held out his hand for her to take, she did so without hesitation. Although it didn't affect her in quite the same way that Dennis's touch had last night when he helped her to the bedroom, her heart still beat a little faster with Barry's fingers intertwined with hers as they walked together. When they turned the corner, she took a deep breath in anticipation of seeing something horrible waiting for her there.

"I know it looks scary down here, and I can't help that," Barry said as he faced her. "But I got your back now, okay?"

When they reached the barred gate, he pulled out the familiar keyring and unlocked the padlock. "I know it's kinda primitive, but just think of it like our front door. This place came cheap for a reason." He stopped again after they passed through the gate and pointed at a brick in the wall. "Go ahead, pull that out."

When she did as he instructed, she could see a small brass key tucked away behind it. 

"That's the spare, in case you're ever locked out and need back in."

Casey replaced the brick. "And if I want out?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked. It just so happens that I had a few extra keys made today while I was out...and one is yours now."

"Why?" She couldn't believe it.

"Why not?," he countered with a smile as they continued down the corridor hand-in-hand.

"Didn't you think I was going to run away?"

"Honestly, I wasn't sure after our conversation, but I figured it was a possibility."

"Then why bother?"

"Because it _wasn't_ a bother. We need some spares anyway, and I happen to enjoy the rest of it." His normally happy voice betrayed a tiny bit of sadness as he continued, "I hardly ever get a chance to shop for other people." 

She recalled the full bags in the hallway where Barry had left them. "You didn't..."

"Don't worry about that now. Let's talk about it later. I got some Thai for dinner too. If we hurry, it'll still be hot when we get back."

Once they reached the locker room area, he pointed out the side door which she had completely missed. "Now, right through there," he said, opening the door so she could see down the hall, "is one of the entrances for maintenance employees. Easiest way to leave fast if there's ever a need."

"Does it take a key to get out?" she asked.

"No, but you do need one to get back in."

Casey was tired of not knowing anything about what was going on or where they were. "Please just tell me, Barry. What is this place?"

"It's where we work. See, Kevin...well, Dennis actually...He got promoted to maintenance manager a while back, and the higher-ups let us have the old keeper's quarters for a steal if he agreed to fix it up in his spare time." 

That was more of an answer, but it still wasn't enough for her. "Is this...a jail?"

Barry chuckled. "Maybe some people could see it like that. You can make your own decision when you see for yourself."

Though her stomach was still flip-flopping with nervousness the closer they got to the room with cages, she put her trust in Barry, which was easier with his reassuring grip on her left hand. But when she heard the same low, vibrating rumble again when they neared the door, she got spooked and tried to pull away from him.

"Sweetie, it's okay," he hushed her, still gentle though he held her hand tightly. "I swear it's not what you think. Just look and you'll see. Can you trust me?," he asked again.

When she acknowledged that she was ready, he pulled a key card from his wallet and swiped it to unlock the door, and then together, they stepped through into a well-lit, modern hallway.

"It's after hours, so most of the vets have gone home by now. But I think you'll find what made that noise right through there."

Casey was baffled by what he said until she looked through the window to her right where he pointed and found the source of the growls. It was a huge, blond-maned lion, pacing back and forth inside an enclosure behind vented glass. Suddenly, it all made sense: Dennis and Hedwig's love for animals, the "keeper's quarters," the field trip of high schoolers here... "We're in the zoo?"

"Bingo," he said. "This is the place where they keep some of the big animals like the bears and big cats to recover after procedures or when they get sick. This one's probably just throwing a fit about being separated from his pride until he gets better. _He's_ what you heard, honey. Not the Beast."

An incredible sense of relief combined with shame washed over her as she watched the majestic creature amble around his pen and stare back at his curious new visitors. When he grumbled again, the same sound as she heard before, she muttered, "I feel like an idiot."

"After all you've been through? Come on. Don't feel like that. You're not an idiot." Barry's voice was calming and warm. "You're tired. You've been hurt. You just need some time to breathe and feel safe for a change. And if you want to take that time here, you can." He stepped back and let her have a moment to gather her thoughts. She felt grateful to him but was unsure of how to say it.

After a few minutes, he broke the silence again. "Do you still want to leave tonight?" When she couldn't formulate a response, he went on. "You don't have to decide yet. Let's start small. How about this? Do you want to stay for dinner?"

Casey nodded wordlessly.

"Oh, I'm glad for that!" he told her. "You know, it's nice to have some company around this lonely old place for a change." He offered his hand again, and she accepted it with a new smile. "Now, let's talk dinner. I didn't know what you'd like, but nobody can say no to Pad Thai, right?" 

"I've never had it," she admitted as they made their way back through the room of cages. She felt silly that she hadn't put two and two together before, looking around now. Philadelphia Zoo was one of the oldest zoos in America, and she supposed that area might have been some of the original indoor animal pens.

"You haven't?" he exclaimed. "Well, you're in for a treat."

When they got back to the kitchen, Barry directed her to sit down as he unloaded the takeout from the brown paper bags sitting on the small table. As each container opened, the warm food inside unleashed its exotic aroma over the whole room, and Casey's mouth nearly began to water.

Once she tried the noodles he'd gotten for her, she decided she liked it more than she figured she would. Her diet typically consisted of whatever easy-to-fix foods she could find around the house along with school lunches, which were officially over for her. 

"Did they at least feed you well this week?" Barry finally asked after he filled her in on some of his fun on his and Orwell's afternoon out.

She thought about it. Really, Dennis and even Patricia fed her better than her uncle did most of the time. "It hasn't been _that_ bad."

"Oh, it hasn't, huh?" He teased, dipping a spoonful of rice into his red curry. "You're a trooper, I'll tell you that."

"I mean, the food," she clarified. "The rest wasn't great. But I guess...I guess it could have been worse."

"Yeah," he affirmed a little more seriously. "A lot worse." He let out a sigh. "Dennis may have been a dumbass at first, but if he hadn't stood up to Patricia..."

"He told you about that?"

"About as much as he felt comfortable sharing. He's not one to toot his own horn, but the fact that he had to go against her on this..." he paused and looked up at her, a candid, open expression on his handsome face. "I don't think either one of us can understand just how hard that must've been for him. There was a time when he would've done anything she asked of him. _Anything._ This time, he didn't. That says a lot."

Casey wasn't sure of what exactly that said but she decided to ask a question that had been nagging at her. "How do you talk with each other?" She wasn't sure if it would offend him, so she tacked on, "Only if that's okay to ask. Is it always...well, I've heard two of you at once before. I don't know much. I mean, I didn't know that was possible."

"I think it's rare," he replied. "We don't really know anyone else like us. Dr. Fletcher, our shrink, said that others experience it sometimes. But honestly, for the most part whatever's going on with one of us while we're in the light doesn't really register with the others. Like right now? It's a good bet that no one else knows we're having dinner together or what we're talking about. They don't know anything about my whole day. Which means, luckily, they also don't know how much I put on the card. Not until the bill comes due." He winked. "Nah, when we're out of the light, we just stay in the room in our chairs. Little One gets impatient, and he can get out pretty much any time he pleases, so I'm honestly surprised he hasn't tried to steal some time from me today, but I figure Dennis is keeping an eye on him. Sometimes we'll talk to each other there in the room when it's something important or if we need to make group decisions for Kevin."

"I read..." She almost hesitated to confess that she'd been snooping. "I read some things in Patricia's journal. About a time when everybody was in the light all at once."

"Oh." Barry didn't look exactly happy with that, but he didn't seem mad either. "Her journal. I didn't even think about it before I left. Well, I probably don't want to know what it says, but if she left it sitting out, I don't blame you for looking at it. "

"But I shouldn't have." 

"Maybe it's best you did, I don't know. If you read about what I'm thinking you read, maybe you have a better idea of how she got to this point."

"I think I do," she said, "but I still don't really understand why it went so far. And why...why me?"

"I don't know. Only Patricia knows. Maybe she doesn't even really know." He took a bite. "If anyone got close to understanding, maybe it was Dennis, or else he wouldn't have gone as far with her plans as he did. But that time when everyone was thrown into the light...that was over a year ago now, I guess. That whole thing really threw us all off, you know? Probably sounds silly. It was nothing more than a couple of kids going overboard with flirting on a dare." Casey wanted to protest that it was much more than that but she kept quiet for Barry's sake and let him finish his thought without interruption. "It's just...not the easiest thing to deal with for people like us. Who've been through..." He paused and focused on the swollen knuckles of his left hand. "Thankfully, Kevin was asleep, or he would've...he might've..."

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm sorry that happened to you. _All_ of you."

When Barry looked back up at her, he was blinking back tears. "Thank you for that, sweet girl. You know, I still try to pretend like it was no big deal. But truth is, it _did_ bother me. I wish everyone could understand. At the same time, I wish that things like that just didn't happen at all. What we've been through. What _you've_ been through. _God_ , with everything that's gone on this week...I just..." His voice caught again, but he eventually forced a happy face for her. "There I go with my wishful thinking again." He closed up his takeout container and turned to put his leftovers away in the fridge. 

"I think I gave up on wishing for anything a long time ago," Casey muttered. The world wasn't fair, and she knew better than to think that could change. Still, Barry had been right that now she could better understand why Patricia had decided to try and make life better for her boys in her own way, even if her methods were misguided.

"You and Dennis both, kiddo," Barry sniffed, needlessly rearranging the fridge's contents. "But maybe that means you two are smarter than people like me or something. You see the world as it truly is, not how you wish it would be."

 _I don't know if that's necessarily a virtue,_  she thought to herself. But rather than protest, she decided to ask, "Is he doing okay?"

He straightened and faced her again. "I think he's alright," he said. "When he handed the reins over to me this morning, he was still feeling pretty upset about everything. He just needs some time to himself. That's how he recharges."

"He..." she started then stopped.

"What is it?"

"He left me a note. And some money," she admitted. "Unless that was you."

"Not me. I don't know where he stashes his cash around here." He pulled off his beanie and leaned back against the counter. "He's got his particular hiding places, I'm sure. Keeps the others from spending his savings. But he did say he wanted me to make sure you had the option to leave. What did the note say, if you don't mind my asking?"

"All it said was, 'I'm sorry.'"

"Short and to the point as ever," he commented. "I'm sure that doesn't seem like a lot, baby girl, but for him, it really is."

Casey waited for a moment and thought over what he'd just said. Finally, she decided to just ask him for the truth. "Do you want me to go tonight?"

"No," Barry replied sincerely. "But you make your own decisions on that, okay? You're free to go, and you're free to stay as long as you need a place to crash." He picked up her leftovers and stacked it with the other containers in the fridge. "I can't imagine you're head over heels for staying here with us though."

She didn't know how to tell him that when she fled from the lion's growl earlier, it had felt like she was running home. 

"And Dennis?" she pressed. "Does he want me to leave?"

"Honestly?" Casey's stomach dropped, expecting to hear something that could hurt. "I don't know anything for sure. He keeps most of us in the dark on what he's feeling 99% of the time. Why don't you try asking him that yourself when you get a chance?"

"I don't think I can do that."

"I know he's kinda hard to talk to," he interjected, "but give him a chance to try. When he's slow with his words or if he stutters, just be patient. If he doesn't say the nicest things, don't take it to heart. He's not one to say more than what needs to be said, and when he wants to say more, he doesn't let himself. He's always kept people at a distance, except for Patricia maybe and the Little One. Sometimes, he'll even confide me these days. But he blocks pretty much everyone else out."

If she didn't know better, she'd say that was a pretty accurate description of herself too. At least until she met Barry.

He strolled out into the hall then came back carrying the shopping bags and headed toward the living room. "Come on. You need a cheer-up. Come see what I got today."

When she walked in, he was already spreading the sacks out over the rug in front of the sectional and separating out the things he'd bought, which looked like far more than just the few items she requested.

"You got me clothes?"

He hummed in a high tone and shrugged. "It's nothing. A few things I thought you might need. Oh!" He peeked inside one sack before quickly closing it back up and hiding it behind him. "And maybe a surprise or two for later."

"You shouldn't have." Casey was astounded. She couldn't remember the last time in her life that someone had gotten her a gift like this...especially a gift just because. Uncle John rarely bought her much outside of basic necessities and cheap new clothes before each new school year.

"I'm pretty sure I got you stocked up with everything you'll need," Barry said, pushing the Pickwick Pharmacy bags toward her first. "And some clothes too. Pink's your favorite color, right?" He grinned when she tried to mask her distaste. "Only teasing. I saw your clothes when I was checking your size." He held up a finger and said, "Fashion is one thing that does not escape my notice."

She waited on opening up the sacks from Pickwick as she watched him show off each piece he bought for himself: a few shirts, a pair of stylish brown brogues, and some sunglasses. "I should've thought to get the others something too, but they're all so damn picky. Dennis especially. I swear to God, all he ever wears is black. Not that I'm complaining. Black can be classy, and he sure pulls it off. And if I've pegged you right, that's close to what you like to wear too. Lots of layers? Dark colors?"

"Pretty much."

"I only got you a few basics, but I'm telling you, it was hard holding back. Next time, you can come with me if you want. Then we'll do some real damage. Sound like a plan?"

Casey couldn't stifle her amazed chuckle, and she shook her head. "I don't even know!"

"Just enjoy it," he insisted with a widening grin. He was clearly excited to make her happy. 

Item by item, they went through his shopping haul. The clothes he bought her were fairly sensible and thankfully inexpensive pieces that she might've picked out for herself: some striped pajama pants, a pair of jeans, a few shirts, a long-sleeved cardigan, some indoor loafers - "They were on sale, so I couldn't resist," Barry reasoned - and a loose off-shoulder gray sweatshirt.

"I hope it's okay," he said. "Trust me, there were so many more things I had to stop myself from buying."

Casey was even more overwhelmed when she saw everything he bought at the pharmacy: deodorant, a razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, some basic hair and skin care products, and the tinted lip balm as she'd requested, and a haul of makeup like lipstick he said he thought would look good with her skin tone. He hadn't even shied away from getting a box of tampons for her.

"Just in case," he explained when she blushed a little in embarrassment. "I figure you'll need them sooner or later."

"I don't even know what to say," Casey told him. "You bought all this knowing I might be gone when you got back. Why?"

"I had fun with it." He shrugged. "Besides, I never shop at a place without a good return policy. I would've just taken it all back. Well...don't you like it?"

_Story Soundtrack:["Finale" - John Williams (The Book Thief score)](https://youtu.be/Y8c_xhvIVAY)_

"It's perfect. But it's more than I ever...I can't pay you back now, but I'll find a way someday," she promised. 

"Don't you dare," he warned good-naturedly. "I may get a talking-to from Mr. Sensible, but there's no denying you needed it. I can't blame him for not thinking ahead on this stuff though; Dennis knows next to nothing about girls. Not that I'm much better but at least I know you need more than a bar of soap and dollar store shampoo."

"Thank you so much, Barry. For everything."

When he saw how bowled over she was, Barry's face transformed with the brightest smile she had seen yet. Then he stood up from where he'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor and opened his arms to her. "Could you stand a hug? 'Cause I could sure use one today."

His request didn't feel like it came with any ulterior motives, not like it did from her uncle or any of the immature boys at school. Without second-guessing him, she moved forward to accept his embrace. Although she knew he shared the same body with Dennis, she could almost ignore that fact if she just focused on his particular fresh scent and the way he gently patted her back. His hug was so genuine and friendly, Casey found herself letting her head drop to his shoulder. She hadn't been held like this for almost as long as she could remember, and before she knew it, she gripped him more closely by the fabric of his shirt at his back and shuddered a bit as she began cry against his warm neck.

"It's gonna be okay," he said softly into her hair then. "You just let it out. We're alright now...."

Casey couldn't believe this moment was really happening. Barry had given her something she'd long ago abandoned hope of ever having: someone offering a shoulder and holding her with an innocent familial kindness that had been kept from her nearly all her life. For the first time since her dad died, she felt like she really had someone on her side again...like a big brother. In the span of only a few hours, Barry had made the world a less frightening and more beautiful place to her, and he'd offered his friendship without expectation in a way that no one ever had. A dream had come true for her tonight.

He didn't say anything or call attention to the way her nose and eyes were still a little watery when they finally let go of one another. Instead he said with a subtle smile, "You know what? I ought to thank you too. Without you, who knows what might've happened? I don't even want to think about it."

They both sat on the couch for a while and spent some more time just talking and getting to know one another. They discovered their mutual love for art, and he showed her a few of his fashion designs with pride, then she retrieved her bag and showed him some of her recent sketches. After an hour or so, Barry eventually stretched and said, "Well, it's getting late. What do you think about taking some time for yourself while I do a few things and catch up on the news?" He dug inside one of the sacks he'd kept to the side and tossed her a small multi-colored ball. When he saw her looking at it with curiosity, he told her, "It's a bath bomb. Haven't you ever used one before?"

"I've seen them before, but that's it," she answered. Casey never took baths, but the idea of soaking her sore muscles in some hot water didn't sound bad. 

"Well, you've gotta try it. You can use this bathroom if you want," he said, and he opened the door to the side of the living room. "It's quiet here, and this door locks, so you can feel safe, even though you know _I'm_ not gonna bug you. When your water's ready, just drop that ball in. I promise you'll love it."

Once they said their goodnights, Casey picked up her new sweatshirt and the gray and teal pajama pants along with the sacks from the pharmacy and eagerly went into the bathroom. For one blissful private hour, she was able to let go of most of the worries that had plagued her during the afternoon and relaxed in the calm quiet of the minty blue bath as she soaked, shaved, and washed up. It felt so good that she didn't want it to end, but she made herself drain the tub and finish getting ready for bed.

The living room was dark by the time she got out, and she could see by the light from the kitchen that Barry had taken care of putting away the rest of the shopping for her. She decided to go thank him one last time because the day had turned out too good for her to believe it was true. And it was all because of him.

After slipping on her new house loafers, she padded down the hallway. As she drew near to the office door, she could see Barry sitting in front of the laptop at the desk, leaning his head heavily into his hands. She thought maybe he was just tired, but when he let out a long sigh, she worried that something had gone wrong since they parted ways for the night.

"Barry?" she tentatively called from the doorway.

Almost instantly, he shot up and turned around to face her, and she could see that, while he was still wearing Barry's clothes from earlier, he had on glasses now. Dennis's glasses.

His brilliant blue eyes showed his surprise at seeing her. Even his lips, normally pressed thin together, parted as he stared at her in disbelief. "Casey," he exhaled. 

All she could do was stand there, frozen at the way her name sounded coming from his mouth. She knew her shoulder was exposed by her drooping sweatshirt but somehow, she didn't care as much about him seeing the smattering of scars there anymore. He wasn't wearing Barry's hoodie, and this was the first time she could see his bare arms in the light. Although she tried not to stare, she could see his thick, vascular forearms bore a few scars of his own. If it made him self-conscious, he didn't seem to think of it just then. All he seemed capable of focusing on was her.

"You..." he started to say, his tone incredulous and stunned. "You didn't leave."

"I didn't leave," she quietly repeated.

"I thought...when I saw your clothes were gone, I...I figured..." He paused. "I thought I'd never see you again."

She hadn't expected to see him again either when she first set out to leave earlier in the day, but she _really_ hadn't expected to hear him say something like that. A pleasant sensation rushed through her at his words, like a current. It seemed she was having as much trouble finding something to say as he usually did. "The money you left with my stuff...you didn't have to do that."

"If that was wrong, I..." Dennis swallowed, and she found herself watching the way the muscles of his throat moved delicately beneath his flushing skin. "I just didn't want you to have to go back to your uncle for anything."

"I thought maybe you _wanted_ me to leave."

He gave a scarcely perceptible shake of his head, and as their line of sight connected with new intensity, Dennis made his way toward her. Only a few feet of space separated them when he spoke again in nearly a whisper. "Then why did you come back?"

"Because..." She could just admit that she imagined the Beast was coming after her, but the truth was much more complex than that. She knew that now.

He lightly traced the inside of his lips with the tip of his tongue while he watched her try to formulate a response. The skin around his eyes crinkled as his face began to tighten into something like a frown. "Don't I scare you?" he pressed.

"No," she told him plainly. She knew he hadn't expected an answer like that because although his features remained drawn, he couldn't conceal his surprise. While the uncertainty of who she might meet next was still unnerving, the way she perceived Dennis had shifted irrevocably after all the new information that the day had given her. Although he used to scare her, whatever emotion he provoked inside her now didn't feel like fear anymore.

"Look," he muttered. "You shouldn't be around me. I'm fucked up. Do you understand that? Something's wrong with me. To do what I did..."

"But last night, you said..."

"I know what I said," he snapped.

Although the bitterness in his tone made her want to retreat, she tried to hang on to what Barry had told her about the way Dennis communicated.

"You're not," she protested in a quiet voice. "You're not fucked up."

He faltered only a moment before roughly rasping back at her, "You've got me mixed up with Barry. He's the one people like. He's the..." He shook his head again, clearly angry with himself for not finding the right words. " _I_  took you.  _I'm_ the one who brought you here. Him and me...we're not really the same person."

"I know that," retorted Casey, feeling more courageous. She was determined not to be scared away by his defensiveness now. "I _know_ you're not the same person. You're the one who saved me."

"That doesn't...that doesn't change the fact that I..." His words trailed off.

"You have a good heart."

The wrinkles of concern between Dennis's thick brows softened, although he clearly tried hard to fight it at first. She watched as the anger, his thorny shield, melted away.

"You..." Dumbfounded, he blinked a few times in succession to discourage the fresh, watery shine brimming in his eyes. He stepped closer, just within arm's reach. "You think I...?"

"I know you do." Casey took in a breath and subtly steadied herself by holding onto the doorframe.

Dennis drew his lower lip in with his tongue again and barely raked his teeth in the same spot as he speechlessly stared at her. His gaze travelled down to her full lips and back up again, seeking an answer in her eyes.

For a second, Casey thought he might close the remaining distance between them. But just as he drew near, he winced back and rubbed the flat of his hand over his scalp. She wondered what she'd said or done wrong. Surely her clothes didn't have anything on them; they were brand-new. And she was clean from her bath.

"Your hair. Can you just..." he started. He almost reached for her before he hesitatingly jerked his hand back. "Can I...may I...?"

He didn't finish his sentence, but when he slowly moved his hand toward her face again, she didn't pull away. She remained completely still as he gently swept a stray lock back from her cheek to join the rest of her damp hair behind her shoulder. It was a tender and totally unexpected gesture, although he made sure his touch didn't linger.

"There," he said as he pulled away.

"Thank you?" It came out almost like a question but she was too overcome to say more. She was sure he noticed how her pulse had risen at his touch, how her cheeks blushed hot now as she looked back at him in the golden lamplight.

He cleared his throat again, and the stern lines between his brows reappeared. Then he crossed his arms and threw back his shoulders in a masculine stance. Before she could say or do anything else, Dennis had backed away again to create more distance between them.

"You should get some sleep," he said, slightly pushing his lips out as he resumed his aloof frown. "It's late."

Once again, his shield went back up, and Casey wasn't sure what to feel. "I was...just about to." 

"Did you get enough to eat today?"

"Yes."

"And I guess...Barry got you some clothes?"

She knew he'd noticed what she was wearing. "Yes," she repeated.

"Well, then I..." He paused and looked at her again, although he didn't allow himself to connect in the same way as they had only minutes ago. Something inside his eyes reminded Casey of that lonely lion down the hall, pacing around in his enclosure behind a wall of glass. Finally Dennis spouted, "Then good night." Clenching his jaw tight, he turned away from her to sit at the desk once more.

Bewildered, Casey blankly watched him as he pulled up a budgeting spreadsheet on his laptop. He didn't seem to know what to type, but even though he knew she hadn't walked away yet, he wouldn't let himself acknowledge her again.

She forced herself to let go of the doorframe and returned to Hedwig's room, back to the comfort of his bed and the consoling glow of his nightlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've already mentioned this, but most of my chapter titles are related to specific lyrics or song titles from The Smiths (nod to Casey's mom) or Bob Dylan (nod to Casey's dad). Although every one I pick usually has some meaning related to the story, I really like this one ("The Boy with the Thorn in His Side" by the Smiths) as an insight into Dennis. Also, I like the idea that the song is loosely tied to the story of Androcles and the lion (which is a tale about a lion that is seen as angry and aggressive, but it turns out he's just in deep pain because of a thorn in his paw). That was probably not Morrissey's intent at all, but that's where I'm going with it on this one.
> 
> I'm thinking about maybe eventually sharing my full Blue Skies writing playlist on Spotify...The soundtrack songs I link (and more) are huge parts of my inspiration.
> 
> Love to all you guys! Will try to reply to comments as soon as possible. You don't know how much your kindness, kudos, and words mean to me! <3


	15. I'll Give You Shelter From the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Hedwig's bedroom, Casey receives a nighttime visitor.

 

Story Soundtrack: ["Wallpaper" - Thomas Newman](https://youtu.be/xdBuDlv6Xdo)

An unfamiliar anxious heat welled low in Casey's belly long after she withdrew to Hedwig's room. Everything that happened in the span of a single day felt like too much to process at once: the revelations about the man and all his alters, the unexpected and fast friendship with Barry, the dark secrets contained within Patricia's journal, and then, to top off the night, the unanticipated encounter with Dennis.

Her cheeks burned against her pillow, and the covers felt almost oppressive over her warm skin as she replayed their earlier conversation. She kept asking herself whether it was only her imagination how relieved he had seemed to see that she hadn't left after all. The air between them felt charged with something intense and palpable but she didn't fully understand what that something was. All she knew was that it wasn't helping to temper the feverish jitters inside her.

Thinking of the way Dennis gazed at her and swept her stray hair back only seemed to make it worse.

After more than an hour of restlessly shifting positions, she got up to pick out one of Hedwig's books in the hope that reading something light might distract and help her fall asleep. First she checked on the gerbils to find them snoozing beneath their plastic dome, bellies full, snuggled together in a ball of fluff so tight that she was scarcely able to tell them apart.

Just as she selected a battered Choose Your Own Adventure book from the shelf, a muffled percussion of thunder penetrated the thick underground walls of the old building. Casey always loved summer storms, and for a moment, she considered using the spare keys that Barry left for her on the dresser to sneak outside and watch the rain coming down. But given the lateness of the hour along with the possibility of disturbing him, she decided against it. Instead, she flipped her pillow over to its cool side and settled in to read.

She tried to focus her attention on the book but the occasional rumbles of the storm drew her thoughts back to the last rain a week ago, when she'd been watching the dark thunderheads approach on the horizon from the restaurant window when Dennis had been sitting in the parking lot, waiting for her. Only for her.

Suddenly, the doorknob jiggled and clicked as it turned, and all of Casey's muscles went tense and on the alert.

"Casey?" someone lisped. Then a face peeked through the cracked doorway.

"Hedwig! What are you doing?" She stayed wary of him as he entered; there was no forgetting that the last time she saw him, he'd given the light to Patricia.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I just wanted to check on Scratch and Sniff."

She realized he was talking about his pets. "Oh! I fed them for you today."

"You did?" Hedwig peered in at the pair of sleeping gerbils.

"Yeah, they were pretty hungry," Casey said. "They're doing okay though."

"I missed them," he murmured. After a minute, he added, "They're glad you're here. I can tell." 

Casey smiled at that but when he stood again, she could see he still looked worried. "Is something wrong?" 

He nibbled at the side of his lip then admitted, "I don't like sleeping in the other room. It's not the same."

She wasn't going to disagree with him on that. Hedwig's room was far more cozy. She remembered how, when she tried to escape only a few days ago, she locked him in the other room after he told her he was scared of the dark, and her sense of guilt about that bubbled up again.

There was another loud crack of thunder, and with a sharp gasp, Hedwig leapt forward onto the foot of the bed. Casey tossed back the covers and clambered away from him then whirled back around to find him harmlessly cowering. He wasn't only scared of the dark. He was frightened of the storm too. Seeing the grown man behaving like a child was no less strange to her than at their first meeting but her sympathy for him overrode her initial judgment. 

"Can I sleep in here tonight?" he pleaded.

"Well, of course," Casey replied. "This is _your_ room, not mine." She figured she'd just grab an extra blanket and pillow and camp out on the couch in the living room. 

"Would you wanna stay with me?" he asked bashfully in his boyish voice.

He looked so pitiful and gave her wide puppy-dog eyes and it didn't take long for her to be swayed. "Alright. But just for a little while. I can't stay in here with you all night, okay?"

After Hedwig crawled up and got under the covers, he grabbed one of his pillows and clutched it to his chest, trembling.

Casey was moved by seeing how frightened he seemed to be, and she surprised herself for thinking to ask him, "Do you want your tiger light on?" The room was already well-lit, but she figured it might calm him.

He nodded but as she walked around the bed to switch the nightlight back on, he dolefully remarked, "I'm just being a big baby." 

"Not at all."

"Miss Patricia says it's silly," he lisped. "She says I need to grow up."

Casey mentally cursed at Patricia for making Hedwig feel bad about needing a nightlight. She remembered all too well what it felt like to have the things she counted on for comfort, like her stuffed animals, being taken away from her when John said she was getting too old for them. While Casey's uncle wanted her to grow up for him far before her time, she guessed that based on the journal entries she'd read earlier, Patricia only wanted "her boys" to be stronger to be able to survive in a world that she saw as threatening.

"I can't help it that I'm not as old as the others yet. I know they think I'm stupid too." His voice had a sad tremor to it. "But Mr. Dennis understands. He knows bad things can happen in the dark."

The root of his fear was becoming clearer to her. "Well," she said after a beat, "you don't have to grow up until _you're_ ready. Okay? And besides, I like your tiger." Hedwig brightened at that, so she added, "He makes the room happier, doesn't he?"

Casey had never really been great with kids...not that she ever had many chances to be around them, nor did she have much time to be a child herself. But what she said made Hedwig feel better, and she was glad of that.

"Remember how you said that you'd sing to me like Miss Patricia does sometimes?" 

She dreaded what she knew he was going to ask her. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, I'm not supposed to let her in the light, 'cause she's in trouble. She's been bad."

 _To say the least,_ Casey remarked silently to herself.

"So maybe...would _you_ tuck me in and sing to me?"

"I don't know. What would you want me to sing?"

"You pick," he answered with a pleased grin.

Casey had never tucked anyone in before, but she recalled how her dad lulled her to sleep on nights when she was upset or scared. He would swaddle her with the blankets and tell her fairy tales about the Ice Queen or recount funny stories from his childhood. Sometimes he would get his acoustic guitar and play for her too. While she was unable to offer Hedwig the same magical sort of experience, she decided she would do her best. She wanted to at least try to repay the kindness that the man had offered her today while Barry was in the light.

"Let me think."

She began at his feet and made her way up, tucking the covers in around his brawny legs and back. He watched her innocently the whole time. Then before she could sit down on the floor, he reached out for her wrist.

"Will you sit here with me?"

She knew she probably shouldn't, but she gave in and took a seat on the other side of the bed behind his back. That apparently appeased him, because he snuggled his head deeper into the pillow and waited for his lullaby.

The idea of singing for him made Casey nearly blush pink, but she tried to remind herself that Hedwig wasn't going to judge her, and at least he wasn't staring right at her anymore. Trying to summon up her courage, she focused on the circle of light on the ceiling cast by the lamp. Then she began, meek and quiet, with a tune she hadn't sung in years although it had long ago been memorized by heart.

"Blue skies smilin' at me. Nothin' but blue skies do I see. Bluebirds..." Her voice caught at the flood of emotions that came with the old song.

"Keep going," Hedwig urged her. "You're doing a good job!"

She swallowed before continuing, "Bluebirds...singin' a song. Nothin' but blue skies from now on..."

When she finished, Hedwig begged her to sing it one more time. Halfway through the second repetition, he scooted to press his back against her after another low and distant thunder roll, as though he wanted to feel the reassurance of her body next to his. He clutched the pillow tighter, and the muscles of his arms swelled against the sleeves of his gray t-shirt. To ease his shivering, she gently patted his head almost like she would pet a dog, and Hedwig didn't object. Instead, he leaned into her touch and let out a gratified sigh. His shorn hair felt so soft and pleasant against her hand that she let her touch linger, lightly combing her fingertips along his scalp. She chose another song, and when Hedwig's trembling stopped as he drifted off, she softened her voice to a hum and finally let it fade away.

The collar of his shirt hung loose and open where he slept on his side, and her attention was drawn to the small patch of exposed skin beneath his neck. There, she spotted what she thought was a shadow or a stain on his upper back. Curious, she lifted his collar to get a better look. Her throat tightened to halt a breathy cry, and the fluttery heat inside her faded as she stared in horror. Beneath his shirt, a mess of purplish raised scars were scattered like mown blades of grass over his pale, innocent skin.

Her chin trembled, and she pressed her lips together to stop herself from making another sound as she lowered his shirt collar back down. It was no surprise to her now why Dennis reacted the violent way he had when he saw her scars.

 _What else did she do to you?_ , she thought.

To stem the tide of her anxiety, she focused on matching Hedwig's slow and rhythmic breaths as he slept. After a while, her eyelids grew too heavy for her to question the tumult of feelings and thoughts inside her, and she moved down to rest her head on one of the pillows. Hedwig stirred and rolled over to face her.

"Casey?" he whispered, focusing his tired bleary eyes on hers.

"What?" she whispered back.

"Are we friends now?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

Satisfied, he reached up to delicately grasp a lock of her honey-fragrant hair and slid back into sleep. Not daring to wake him again, she stayed still and watched him through lazily blinking lids, finding slight traces of Barry and Dennis in his expressions as he dreamed. 

 

X X X X X

 

"Get up, sleepyhead!" 

Hedwig's voice pulled Casey out of a peculiar and suddenly distant dream that she forgot almost as soon as she was conscious.

"It's morning!" He flopped over on his belly and held his head up with both hands as he watched her stretch. "Let's do something fun!"

Casey glanced over at the clock with one eye cracked open and saw it was only a little after eight a.m., but with Hedwig so energetic and eager to start the day, she knew there would be no more sleeping in. She yawned and pushed herself up to sit. "Okay."

A grin spread over his morning shadow-stubbled face. "What do you wanna do?"

She drew her hair over to one side and began finger-combing the tangles out. "I don't know."

"We could dance!" he suggested excitedly. 

"Maybe it's too early for dancing," said Casey. "What else do you like?"

"I liiike..." He drew out the word as he thought. "I like seeing all the animals! Especially the tigers. But Mr. Dennis said I can't go out into the zoo without him."

"Well," she started, "I think you'd better listen to Mr. Dennis then." She paused, thinking of how much she ached to get some fresh air. "I do wish I could get out and see the sun, though."

"I know! We can make one!"

"One what?" Her brain was too sluggish to keep up with Hedwig's quick pace yet.

"A sun! And animals...et cetera!" He hopped up from the bed and ran to the tub in the corner where all his art supplies were stored. He pulled out a king-sized pad of paper first and then started to fill a big plastic bucket with paint and sponge brushes, a huge box of crayons, and markers. "We can make anything you want! But I'm not supposed to paint in here with the carpet, 'cause I'll get in big trouble." He stood and motioned for her to follow him. "Come on! Let's go!"

When they got to the office, Hedwig plopped into the desk chair and started up the laptop as Casey settled cross-legged on the red rug and spread out a few of the huge sheets of paper to cover the floor from any possible messes. When the log-in screen came up, he turned to her and soberly said, "Don't tell Mr. Dennis that I know his password. Our secret, okay?"

She bit her lip to hide a grin. "Okay."

After he started a cartoon on the computer, he got into the floor beside her. First, they painted entire sheets of paper bright blue and green with the foam brushes. Then, while those dried, they began cutting out fluffy, bubbly clouds from white construction paper with a pair of child-sized safety scissors. The scissors were too small and unwieldy for Hedwig's hands but he didn't seem to notice. Still, he decided to let Casey take over the cutting after a couple of botched attempts.

Together, they spent what seemed like hours drawing and coloring, and it was some of the most innocent and simple fun that Casey had experienced in years. When she made the sun, she added a spiraling swirl of white to its golden yellow interior and drew in squiggly sun rays in graduating shades of orange, and Hedwig acted like it was the best thing he'd ever seen. Every now and then, he made an unexpectedly funny observation, just like a child, or he stopped what he was working on to stare up slack-jawed at the cartoon. 

Casey showed him how to circle tape back on itself, and then after shutting off the laptop again, they went into the "grown-ups' bedroom" and started taping up all of their creations on the unfinished walls.

When they were done, they both stood back to view their masterpiece. A portion of the plain gray drywall in one corner was covered by sheets of blue sky above a wide pasture of grass where the animals they'd created and cut out roamed together, peaceful and free.

"Now it's not so scary in here," said Hedwig.

"You're right," she told him. "It's a lot prettier. You're a really good artist, Hedwig."

He beamed and pursed his lips to the side like he was embarrassed, but his pleasure was evident. Then he spouted, "Let's play hide-and-seek! You're it!"

He tagged her shoulder with a strength he probably didn't know he possessed, nearly shoving her off balance. With that, he disappeared through the open office door. She could hear his bare feet slapping the floor as he ran into the kitchen, and she rolled her eyes with a quiet laugh. After counting down out loud, she took her time in heading after him and pretended to search all around, even though she saw him crouching beneath the table as soon as she walked in. At last, she dropped to her knees in front of him. "I found you!" 

"Good job!" Hedwig declared, then he got up and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm hungry now," he announced as he swung his legs back and forth, the fabric of his sweats swishing.

He didn't know how to make food for himself as Hedwig, so she went along with it. "What would you like?"

"Pizza!"

"Alright, let's see what we've got here." She tried the freezer first and began digging through the boxed meals and sacks of frozen veggies. 

Hedwig let out a shaky unusual breath.

"Hey, don't get impatient. I'm looking!" she teased at his sigh.

When she closed the freezer door, she turned to find him standing with his arms folded over his chest and a stern expression on his angular face. 

"What are you doing?" he asked gruffly.

"I..." Casey felt her cheeks flushing when she realized he was Dennis again. "I was just going to fix something for Hedwig to eat."

Dennis squinted at her as though he couldn't see very well due to the distance between them without his glasses. "You don't need to do that," he muttered. "I'll take care of..." He stopped talking mid-sentence when he looked down at his hands, which were smeared and speckled with dried washable paint. Instantly, he winced. Holding his hands away from his body, he wordlessly turned and strode out the door.

Casey remained motionless and stunned until she remembered the mess that she and Hedwig had left behind. She was a few seconds too late because she heard him let out an exasperated groan from inside the office. Before she could go in to pick up the art supplies and stray paper cuttings, Dennis shut the metal door.

The lock clicked, and once again, a wall stood between them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "Shelter from the Storm" by Bob Dylan.


	16. Two Lovers Entwined Pass Me By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey spends some time with Dennis.

Every day of the last week had propelled Casey through a gamut of conflicting emotions. Now as she stood outside the office, considering whether or not she should offer Dennis her help, she wasn't sure what to feel. She knew he was likely just put off by the smears of paint on his hands and shirt. The art supplies she and Hedwig left behind in the office would take no time at all to pick up.

So why did she feel the same rush of nervousness that had come over her last night? Her face was flushing hot again, and she pressed her cheek against the metal door to cool it as she listened. Beyond, she could hear muffled crumpling sounds as he wadded up the leftover stray paper bits and the staccato plasticky plunks of paint bottles and markers being dropped back in Hedwig's bucket. 

By the time she made up her mind to knock, a short groan erupted from the plumbing somewhere inside the walls. Dennis had turned on the bathtub faucet. With him showering only a few rooms away from her, she became aware of how odd it was for her to keep standing around idly and listening from the hallway. She gathered a change of clothes and headed to the other bathroom.

She took care to wash up well and remove any spot of paint that might meet with Dennis's disapproval. After getting dressed, she decided she might try to look nicer than usual today just in case they encountered one another later, although she wasn't sure why such a thing should matter to her at all. If she saw him again, she wouldn't know what to talk about anyway. Conversations with Barry felt so much easier. Even if she couldn't always think of the right things to say, he had a way of picking up her slack. Dennis was the opposite, so far. She grew meek and inarticulate in his presence, and he seemed just as tongue-tied around her. While she had learned he wasn't quite as cold and prickly as he tried to come across, she still worried that sooner or later he'd find her presence as much of an inconvenience to him as it was to everyone else who bothered to acknowledge her.

If Casey's shyness and detached demeanor hadn't blackballed her among her peers from the beginning, her later outbursts that began in junior high certainly achieved that distinction. It was the only time she had any kind of power, talking back to the few pushover teachers who she knew would never offer her more correction than assigning detention. No one understood that she only acted out because she was trying to get away. She needed as much time out of her uncle's sight as she could get, even if it meant sitting alone at an uncomfortable desk for hours after class.

As Casey ran a brush over her lids to create a subtle brown smoke, she remembered the day Uncle John caught her in the makeup she wore sometimes at school: black winged liner and bold plum lipstick. He told her she looked like she was asking for it.

All he said and did to her over the years were seeds of pain, sown and sprouted like ugly weeds inside her mind. Even today, there remained a secret doubt about herself, more painful than any gossip her classmates could make up. Deep down, she feared sometimes that perhaps her uncle was right about her. That she was nothing but trouble.

As a final touch, she applied a sheer bit of bronzer to contour her cheekbones, and her mind travelled back to the sense memory of when Dennis had skimmed his hand over her cheek, right where she let her fingertips linger now. Neither Hedwig's physical closeness in bed last night nor the long hug with Barry seemed able to compete with the aftereffects of that chaste encounter by the office doorway. Casey told herself he only meant to tidy her hair...that it was really nothing at all. Yet, the fact remained that the near-electric charge elicited by his touch was still locked inside her skin.

When she finished, she stepped back to look at herself in the mirror and was pleased with what she found: lightly blushing full bow lips and wide-set earthen eyes, flecked with green and bronze, accentuated by her handiwork with the matte eyeshadow palette Barry had gotten for her. Somehow, her reflection even reminded her a bit of her mother, Cassandra. Casey still hoarded hundreds of her parents' old photographs, stacked like recipe cards inside shoeboxes beneath her bed, and she had her mom's face memorized after all the times she sat looking at the pictures and imagining what her life might have been like if her parents were both still alive.

It was a foreign feeling to acknowledge without shame that she might actually be pretty. Patricia had told her so during that strained dinner together nights ago. Although the circumstances of that moment hadn't made her feel flattered by the compliment, she supposed it had been an honest assessment for what it was worth.

Just then, she heard the office door open and the sound of Dennis's shoe heels clipping along the vinyl tiles in the hall, so Casey dashed out and found him nearing the corner to leave.

"Wait," she called from the kitchen doorway, and he spun on his heels to face her. She could tell he hadn't expected to see her again so soon. "Where are you going?"

He didn't answer immediately. They both seemed to be taking a slow appraisal of one another as she approached. It was the first time he'd seen her made up and fully dressed in clean clothes since the night he brought her here. Of course, he wore the typical outfit she had begun to associate with Dennis: the black button-up shirt, matching fitted pants, glasses, belt, and shined shoes. He held two full shopping bags, and Casey recognized that they were from Barry's excursion at the mall only the day before.

"Out." He redirected his attention to the silver watch on his right wrist, and his appearance shifted back to his usual controlled stoicism. "I've got some errands to run." After a beat, he added, "Will you be okay until I get back?"

She pushed herself to ask, "Could I come with you?"

"No. It's not safe for you. Not yet."

Casey's heart sank. She wanted to be able to make some decisions of her own, and that urged her to speak out again when he turned to leave a second time. She tried to sound determined and firm, but her tone lilted upward so that her declaration sounded more like another question. "I'm going."

Dennis pivoted back around. "No," he returned in his deep voice. "You're not." 

"If I can't get some fresh air and sunlight soon, I feel like I'm gonna go..." She stopped herself. _Crazy_ wasn't a word she wanted to use anymore, least of all around the man who had been called that so many times throughout his life. "It's just...you told me I'm free."

He made a peculiar sound as though he'd started out to clear his throat, but the action ended impotent and soft.

She didn't want to challenge him or make waves. Outside of the few times she butted heads with teachers, she tended to avoid confrontation. Still, her honest question pressed its way out. "Was that the truth?"

The skin between his brows wrinkled, and she could see the earnestness inside his eyes when they looked at one another again. "I meant what I said."

"Then, please...can I come with you? I don't care where we go," she said. "I can just stay in the car the whole time. I won't get you in trouble."

He sighed as he mulled over her request. Then he relented and gestured to her with a come-hither curl of four fingers. "Alright." 

Casey brightened and spouted, "I have to get my shoes!"

In her hurry back to Hedwig's room, she missed the way his face softened into a subtle smile at her reaction. 

He was patiently waiting when she met back up with him. They didn't speak at all as they walked beside one another down the dim corridor. The experience was a far cry different than the walk with Barry when he guided her with his hand in hers, but she wasn't afraid. There was no need to worry about some imaginary monster or whatever else could be lurking in the shadows. This time, Dennis was here.

She occasionally glanced over at him from the corner of her eye and wondered what he might be thinking behind his stony facade. She could swear at one point that he stole a look at her too, but she never actually saw him do it, and eventually, she decided she had made it up in her head.

As they approached the gate, he shifted both bags to one strong hand and sorted through the keys on his carabiner with nimble, sure fingers to select the right one. Then he picked up his pace to move ahead of Casey to unlock it. After she passed through, she waited to the side for him to finish locking back up before they continued on, once again side by side and silent other than the gentle scuffing of their shoes against the roughened cement beneath their feet.

Although she liked Hedwig's playful and energetic mannerisms and Barry's friendly warmth, she didn't mind the lack of conversation between them once she let go of the expectation on herself to come up with some kind of small talk to fill the time together. It wasn't only nice. It was a downright relief to be with someone and not have to fill the air with meaninglessness.

After they passed by the locker area, he once again moved ahead of her, unfolding his golden yellow handkerchief from his pocket to hold the handle of the door. As she walked past him into the side hall, their eyes met again, and a delicious feeling ran down her spine and whirled like a top inside her belly. From there, they walked faster, as though both were growing more eager by the minute to get outside.

She had expected a spiny burst of sunlight to spread from the crack of the door as it swung open, but the area they entered was actually darker than the hall from which they came. It was a parking garage. The air was thick with the odor of tire rubber and lingering car exhaust...not exactly the freshness she'd anticipated. The lot was entirely full, but there wasn't a single soul around. On a Sunday afternoon like this, the zoo was likely packed and all the employees and volunteers busy at work. 

She followed his lead to the left toward his car, the same one she had seen parked and waiting for her that night, when she'd been watching Dennis from the restaurant window. The mental picture of the first time she saw him bloomed anew in her mind: his fists clenched, determination on his angular face before he snapped the white mask over his nose and mouth, regret already pooling thick inside his eyes.

Now, he tugged the handle of the passenger side car door and held it open for her. Casey found her feet glued where she stood as she looked away from him down the length of the lot and spied the faintest hint of daylight teasing her from beyond the shallow ramp leading up and out of the garage.

He saw her hesitation. "Do you still want to go? You don't have to if..."

"I do," she assured him. "I want to."

She was keenly aware of his body only inches away from hers as she moved to sit down inside the car. Once she was inside, he shut it for her and circled around to the driver's side. She had seen men do that sort of thing in movies, but she never imagined someone would pay her such a classic courtesy. If what Barry said was true and Dennis had no experience with being around women, then he must've learned the custom from movies too.

He set the shopping bags down in the back seat, and although she was curious, she refrained from prying about what he planned to do with them. He grimaced when he situated himself in his seat only to spot a crumpled straw wrapper and receipt in one of the front cupholders, next to a plastic to-go cup half-filled with leftover iced coffee, long since melted and already beginning to spoil in the humid summer heat. Casey knew it was Barry's, given his carefree nature. Dennis pulled his handkerchief from his pocket again and gingerly but quickly gathered all the trash from the car floorboard and cupholders. Then he took it back to the receptacle by the entrance without complaint. He was probably used to cleaning up the others' messes.

Barry also left a pair of sunglasses on the dashboard, so she put them on. She knew her eyes would be sensitive to the sun after her week underground, but she also figured that it couldn't hurt to mask her appearance, just in case they happened across anyone who might recognize her picture from the news. 

Once Dennis returned to the car, he started up the ignition, and the speakers blasted a loud 80s pop song. Immediately, he slid the volume knob down and then slapped the power button off with a short throaty grumble. After the initial shock, Casey bit her lip to keep from grinning as she imagined Barry singing along to the radio at the top of his lungs last night while on his way home from a day of shopping and picking up takeout for their late-night feast.

He took his time in fiddling with the air conditioner controls to adjust the fan strength, the temperature, and the vent positions to his liking. While the car cooled off, he took out a packet of disinfecting wipes that he kept stored inside the console and wiped down the steering wheel, seatbelt buckle, and gearshift, then he took that wipe back to the trashcan as well.

After he was satisfied by his particular routine, he swung his arm over the back of Casey's seat to turn and look behind them as he maneuvered the car out of the space reserved for the maintenance manager, according to the reflective metal sign on the wall. They traveled up the ramp, waited at the garage's barrier arm before it lifted to allow them out into the lane beyond, and then they were on their way.

She greedily drank in all the details of the day around her: the faint milky haze of humidity rising from the pavement, the summer-crisped leaves on the trees that bordered the avenue, and best of all, the sun high above, welcoming her back to the world with rays dancing down from its fluffy white skirt, which reminded her of the clouds she and Hedwig created together earlier that morning.

Her quiet companion occasionally glanced at the clock on the dash to check the time, although she noticed that he wouldn't stray even one mile over the speed limit. That didn't shock her at all about Dennis, although she guessed he was being more careful than usual to avoid any attention from patrolling police cars, since there happened to be a missing girl, whose glum visage had been featured heavily in local news during the past week, sitting right beside him in his car.

He didn't turn the radio on again, not even at a low volume, and that somewhat disappointed Casey. She was curious to know what kind of music Dennis might like, since she believed, as her dad had, that a lot could be discovered about a person from their taste. Only the sounds of traffic around them accompanied their journey, like the rhythm of the car's tires bumping along the intermittent grooves of the highway, the ambient drone of thousands of vehicles moving like numberless cells through the veins of the city, and the rare jarring of an obnoxiously loud motor passing by.

Last night's rainstorm had left the heat of the late afternoon almost oppressively muggy within the concrete, glass, asphalt, and steel bounds of the city. But Casey knew that in the countryside, where she truly belonged, the scent of late flowering blackberry bushes and mountain laurels that grew in patches by the roadsides would be ripening the air by now. And tonight, once the sun was swallowed by the western horizon, the temperature would drop by twenty or more degrees to create the perfect conditions for a nighttime ramble, one of Casey's favorite solitary pastimes. 

"It's weird," she said aloud without thinking. "Being around so many people after being inside one place for so long."

He glanced over at her with concern. "Yeah?"

"It's just a lot to take in all at once," she clarified. She wanted to tell him that she ached to go somewhere else away from the packed city streets, where she could take in the rolling green hills of Pennsylvania. 

He nodded as he flicked on his blinker and headed down the exit ramp toward Ben Franklin Parkway. "Yeah," he said after a minute. "It is. I remember the first time I saw the city. I was just a kid."

Casey could barely imagine what Dennis must have been like as a child, what he looked like, how he behaved and spoke.

"I liked the buildings the most. So perfectly constructed. Tall. Clean lines. I'd never seen anything like that before. And to know it was just full to the brim with all kinds of people...that was something else."

"Did that scare you?" Casey was glad she managed to volley back a question without overthinking it and potentially mangling the delicacy of the moment, even though his sudden openness was unexpected.

"I don't really get scared, to be honest with you," he told her. 

It didn't sound like he meant to brag at all; his tone was very matter-of-fact. As the alter who had emerged to take on the majority of abuse for Kevin's sake and to protect the others, it made sense for him to be the bravest. He certainly had some form of anxiety, but she knew that wasn't the same as being scared.

"I don't know why it gets to me sometimes, how many people there are." That wasn't entirely truthful. She knew it was the ever-present possibility of evil lurking behind the mask of a smiling face that frightened her. A potential for darkness lay inside every human being.

"It bothers Kevin too," he said. "He's never been able to handle a crowd. I don't care for being around people either, but it doesn't scare me. I just do what I have to do." 

With that, their brief conversation was over, and their quiet reverie resumed. She focused on the beauty of the day outside while he ran his few errands, like getting his mail from his post office box and picking up some medication at one of the drive-through pharmacies.

It was nearly five in the afternoon when they drove down a residential street lined by old brownstone walkups, each with identical stoops and black iron stair-rails. Dennis parallel-parked in front of one of the buildings and left Casey in charge of the keys, although this time, he warned that he might be a while longer than at the other stops. He asked only that she stay inside the car where she would be safe and to use the horn if she needed him.

The neighborhood was so lovely and quiet that she didn't understand his caution, and it took her a while to realize that he probably just didn't like leaving her alone without his protection. Something about that made her feel secure and warm. 

She kept the window rolled down and the AC off for as long as she could handle the heat. Occasional birdsong piped up from within the young maple trees that were planted every few yards down the length of the brick and cement sidewalk. A couple of tan slender runners in bright-colored shorts were the first signs of life other than an old man at the far end of the street who had been sitting on his stoop reading the Sunday paper.

The brownstone Dennis disappeared inside was a beautiful sight with broad white-trimmed windows and a stoop covered by an array of plants housed in clay pots, each painted and glazed in vibrant colors. On the west wall, a trellis at least fifteen feet high was covered to its top by a lush climbing Hyacinth bean vine with dark green spreading leaves and flower blooms ranging from aubergine to bright violet. Beside the bold red front door, occupant names were listed next to individual buzzers, and above that, a golden plaque had been screwed into the brick with the name Dr. Karen Fletcher engraved there. The "shrink," as Barry called her.

It was Sunday, so she guessed surely he wasn't there for an appointment. Still, he was there for nearly half an hour before he came back down. Before they drove away, Casey noticed a woman with short gray hair observing them from where she stood in the wide bay window on the second floor. She was sure the woman saw her too. Casey didn't ask him anything about his visit. She wondered whether Dr. Fletcher knew anything about her but supposed that was a stretch. Of course, Dennis wouldn't want to say anything to his doctor about how he and Casey met.

At last, they arrived at the King of Prussia mall. Although the parking lot was packed, they were able to find a spot not far from one of the main entrances after another car left just ahead of them. Once he parked, Dennis swiveled around to reach the bags in the backseat that he'd brought along with them, and his shoulder brushed against Casey's. She took in his unique clean scent as subtly as possible before he turned around again.

"Aren't those Barry's?" she dared to ask.

"Mm-hmm," he grunted as he reached inside each one to double-check for the receipts before popping open the door. "This shouldn't take long. You'll be alright until I get back again?"

"I'll be fine." She appreciated his concern for her no less than before, but she hated to imagine how disappointed Barry would be when he found out that the new things he'd so proudly shown off were gone. "Does Barry know you're returning everything?"

He sat back down and closed the door to shut off the annoying 'door ajar' warning. "No," he told her. "He spent too much. Way over budget."

She knew she was overstepping her bounds, but Barry was her friend, and he wasn't in the light to speak for himself. "But you...he was so happy. Couldn't he keep at least one thing?"

"He'll be just as happy as he always is, whether he gets to spend all the money I earn or not."

Casey looked up and zoned into the vivid irises now trained on hers, clarified in the directed beam of the evening sun. The shade wasn't merely blue; it was as intricate and faceted as a curling wave. His eyes were starbursts of cerulean, flecked with indigo in the deep and lightest azure dappling over the high ridges, and there were tiny, almost imperceptible hints of leonine yellow near his widening pupil. Her breath hitched, and she forced her gaze away from his stern-browed stare.

Dennis's volume and tone dropped low. "You still think I'm a monster."

Casey didn't reply this time.

"Fine then. But someone _has_ to make the rules," he spouted. "Barry doesn't get to spend all my money on himself. There has to be order. There has to be a system. And we all have to follow it. You can't...you couldn't possibly understand how hard it can be. Splitting one salary for  _six_ people. Making sure everyone has everything they need." He exhaled roughly, almost a growl. "And keeping up with it all, day after day after _day_. You have _no_ idea. None."

Rationally, Casey knew he was only trying to explain his side of the situation, but his agitated tone unnerved her nonetheless. Was there such a thing as a healthy argument? There was no way for her to know. She barely remembered a time before a raised voice only meant fear and pain. With Uncle John, she had learned to automatically flinch every time she did or said something he didn't like. She became as well-versed in tip-toeing around conflict as she tip-toed around the house, finding just the right spots to step so the wood floors wouldn't creak to alert him of her presence when he was in a mood.

And while she knew she had nothing to fear from Dennis, the magic of the afternoon felt broken, and she felt entirely at fault. "It was none of my business," she pressed out. "I'm sorry." She turned away from him toward the passenger side window.

Over the quiet whir of the air conditioner, she heard the softest click of his tongue against his teeth a few times in the span of one long, uncomfortable minute, as though he were trying to say something more but didn't quite know how.

"I didn't mean to scare you." He sighed, and she felt the barest whisper of his breath on the exposed skin at the back of her neck. "I  _have_ to be like this. Do you understand? I have to be strong. If I didn't watch our budget...if I didn't keep Barry from buying every little thing he sets his heart on, we'd be in the streets. He doesn't know when to stop. He just doesn't."

Casey swallowed and meekly offered over her shoulder, "Then take back what he bought for me too. I don't need it." She meant every word, but she couldn't face him. "You can have your money back too. It's still in my bag."

He said nothing in response and instead abruptly left the car. Casey watched him stride purposefully away with the bags in hand until he went beyond the glass sliding doors of the mall. When he was out of sight, she put the sunglasses back on to hide her face and turned on the radio to drown out her confusion, flipping through the stations until she found something halfway palatable.

The evening sun was already baking the pale skin of her forearms after a half hour had gone by. Even with the windows up and the AC on, the warmth was almost too much to bear now. An unshakable anxiety hummed in her core, feeding off her body's nervous response to their minor conflict. Everything felt off now in the wake of their discussion. A part of her ached to have him back near her again, to have some kind of reassurance that he wasn't upset and that he would forgive her. The rest of her fretted constantly about what the rest of their time together might be like if he was still angry with her when he came back to the car.

_Soundtrack Song:["Save Me" - k.d. lang](https://youtu.be/JhS_ADeMBIU)_

As the magic strains of a guitar began on the next song, Casey's attention snagged on a young couple who walked together, holding each other so close there was barely any space left between them, even on this hot, sticky day. When the boy opened the door for her to get in, she thought of the way Dennis had done the same for her earlier. She felt bold enough to watch them from behind her sunglasses as he leaned over to give his girlfriend a slow kiss before shifting the truck in reverse.

 _"Save me...save me,"_ the woman in the song melodically begged. " _Carry me through...and bury all my doubts of you_."

Casey had missed music perhaps more than anything else while being held captive. She considered every song she heard like a soundtrack to her life, the one thing that could ground her.

Casey was completely zoning out inside the tune when a sudden knock came on the driver's side window. She saw it was Dennis and unlocked the door for him, and then he set the shopping bags down in the back and muttered out a short apology for taking so long.

As they were leaving the parking lot, Casey turned to check the backseat just to be sure her eyes hadn't fooled her. Indeed, the bags were the same ones that he had carried inside the mall.

"You didn't return those?"

"They, uh...they couldn't take it back," he replied.

"Not at _any_ of the stores?" Casey was baffled. Hadn't Barry told her only yesterday that he never shopped anywhere without a good return policy? 

"I guess your friend gets to keep his ridiculous shoes after all." 

Casey faced the window once more, but this time, it was to hide a slowly growing smile as her distress about their earlier conversation bled away. She could hear it in his attempt at a light-hearted tone; he wasn't angry with her after all. And he might never admit it out loud, but she knew he purposefully decided against taking back Barry's things.

They were both quiet as they waited in a line of cars for the light to turn green. He didn't turn off the radio, and she wondered if he was doing that for her benefit or if he happened to appreciate the music too.

"So," she finally asked. "Where to next?"

"Home."

She leaned back in her seat. "Oh."

"You don't want to go back?" A tinge of concern was in his tone.

"It's not that," she replied. As much as she appreciated getting to ride along with him, a real chance to stretch her legs somewhere away from all the traffic and people was what she really wanted. There was no guarantee how he might respond, but she decided it was worth a shot to ask. "I'm just...not quite ready yet. I don't know. Would you mind if...maybe we could go somewhere quiet? Just so I can get outside? Just for a while." She was hungry too, but after their earlier talk, she didn't dare ask him to spend any money on feeding her.

"Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know." She paused to reconsider. He was probably tired. "We don't have to. I...I'm being too much trouble."

He looked over at her and in a unexpectedly tender way, he said, "You're no trouble at all."

Casey was struck by how, for someone who was often so closed off, Dennis had a special knack with saying the things she longed to hear.

"I think I might know a place you'll like."

 

_Story Soundtrack:["Falling" by Rogue Wave](https://youtu.be/UH5OCUqIK44)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" by the Smiths.


	17. With One Hand Waving Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis takes Casey to a favorite spot away from the crowds.

By the time they left the mall, a few more sections of the downtown area had been blocked off and barricaded for the upcoming 4th of July events, but Dennis, who clearly knew his way around the city, maneuvered around most of the congestion by taking side streets. Once they were on the tollway heading southeast, she began to try to guess where he might be taking her. The desire to be surprised outweighed her curiosity though, so she kept herself from asking him outright. 

Dennis didn't speak more than was absolutely necessary, but Casey didn't mind at all. Although she still wasn't entirely sure what made him change his mind about taking back Barry's stuff, she was relieved to find out that not every heated discussion had to end with punishment or aggression. It seemed possible to her now that the kind of behavior she was accustomed to from her uncle didn't have to be the norm. Maybe with Dennis, she could be free of it forever. This man and all his alters weren't like anyone else she'd ever known, and strangely enough, she liked that. Even more bewildering was the realization that she was beginning to trust Dennis, and she didn't trust anyone. Yet the connection between them felt as honest as it was unusual, and she believed he meant what he said about keeping her safe if she stayed with him.

Casey shifted her gaze in his direction but couldn't see his face well enough without being obvious. Instead, she glanced over at his legs, where his thigh muscles swelled against the thin fabric of his charcoal pants, then up to where his hands firmly gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. Something about being near him just felt good. Rather than question why, she relaxed back in the car seat and watched the reflection in the side mirror of the sun being drawn ever westward, ever downward into the blushing horizon behind them.

After Dennis exited from the highway, they passed through a suburban neighborhood. Then Dennis parked at a deli. The confusion must have been apparent on her face, because he assured her this wasn't where they were headed. After checking to see what kind of sandwich she wanted, which she answered while trying not to sound too shocked, he went inside and then returned to the car with two handmade sandwiches wrapped in crisp white paper and two glass bottles of locally-made lemonade.

When Casey thanked him for getting dinner, he gave her a stiff nod as a sort of acknowledgement but said nothing. She considered it progress that at least he didn't protest as he had once before, when he told her she shouldn't thank him for anything.  _Was that really only days ago?_ , she asked herself as they continued on their way into a thickly wooded area with stacked stone walls bordering each side of the narrowing road.

Just as the sun was beginning to skim the tops of the trees, they entered Wissahickon Valley Park. A good number of cars bordered along the stream near an old bridge, but Dennis drove past the more populated areas and kept going until they reached a small offset gravel lot, where only a couple of cars were parked.

She was surprised yet again when Dennis opened the trunk to pull out a neatly folded patchwork quilt, which he draped over one arm after locking the car and hooking the carabiner of keys back to his belt loop.

Standing up after spending so much of the day inside the car was a relief, but actually walking and stretching her legs felt like heaven. She followed Dennis's lead down a narrow pathway through a copse of lush green trees. The thinly scattered gravel over the dusty trail crunched deliciously beneath their feet as they walked toward the sound of running water, and birds perched in the limbs above their heads warbled evening love songs.

She breathed in the fresh air that mingled with the faint sweetness of climbing honeysuckle vines and wildflowers that sprang up from within the tall patchy grasses that flanked the trail. In just a few more hours, the golden rays of sunlight that still stubbornly needled through the chinks in the leaves would surrender and fade, making way for the blackness of night and a rich smattering of stars above.

Her stomach drew into a knot when a trio of trail-bikers passed by them, going in the opposite direction. She kept on her sunglasses, just in case, and Dennis stood in front of her protectively. The pair of them probably looked peculiar, being similarly dressed in dark clothing with long sleeves and pants that weren't at all suited for hiking in the thick, moist heat of July, but they were paid hardly any mind by the group as they sped past other than a slight wave from the woman bringing up the rear.

Even as the temperature dropped degree by degree with the setting of the sun, sweat gathered and frosted over the pronounced bow of her upper lip, the back of her neck, and beneath her arms. She watched Dennis walking ahead of her and observed the bare sheen of sweat that had formed just above his collar. Her gaze drifted farther and her mind followed in thinking about what else lay beneath that button-up shirt he wore, what she had seen last night, what she wondered if anyone else had ever seen: those blades of scars, evidence of a shared pain branded into the pale skin pulled taut across the width of his back.

After a short distance more and a fork of the trail to the left, they were out of the woods, and the path disappeared into shoe-flattened grasses. Just ahead of them, a clear sheet of water broke into ripples before it crested and slowly spilled over a natural cascading formation of clay-brown stones piled one on the other, then it swept into a current flowing down the wide stream, where huge flat rocks bordered all along its banks.

"This place alright for you?" Dennis asked.

"It's perfect," Casey told him.

"Good." He sniffed and turned away to busy himself with laying out the quilt in a shaded area. As much as he tried to mask it, he seemed pleased that she approved of the spot he had chosen.

She stepped nearer to the shallow falls. Something about this area seemed familiar to her, but she couldn't remember ever having been there before. She shut her eyes for a moment and took in the sound of water dashing against rocks along its descent a few feet below. It almost sounded like far-off applause for their welcome arrival, even though she knew the waterfall had been there for ages and would still be there long after she was gone.

Her attention was so immersed in the beauty around her that she almost forgot about the food until she turned and found Dennis patiently waiting near the quilt.

"You can sit here to eat," he said, "if you want."

She took a seat on one side of the quilt, and then Dennis handed over her sandwich and drink before turning away. He remained as solemn as ever as he ate near the falls, occasionally bending down to pick up his bottle from the stone where he set it. Initially, she felt confused by him going to the trouble of laying out the quilt only to eat by himself, but then she reconsidered. Perhaps he didn't want to get on the ground and risk getting dirty, or maybe he didn't like being too close to her. Or he was simply allowing her the peace and quiet he knew she needed, away from the busy city they had left behind.

Once she finished her meal and Dennis gathered up their trash, Casey lazily ambled alongside the bank for a while until she made up her mind to take off her boots and wade in the cold water.

Aside from the whirring drone of the cicadas rhythmically rising and falling in the distance and the sound of the stream, everything was so quiet around them now, no voices to be heard, no people to be seen anywhere nearby. She could almost believe for a moment that there weren't billions of people sharing this same world with the two of them now and that they were the only ones in this Edenic moment. 

The evening was still humid enough that Casey felt tempted to abandon caution and go to the deeper area to swim completely clothed, but she knew it would bother Dennis. She wasn't even sure he'd let her sit in the car again if she was soaked, plus it would only feel good for as long as she was in the water. 

As she felt out the next spot to step with her bare feet along the shallow bottom, covered in silt and water-worn pebbles, a sudden sightless memory sprang up. It was the echo of a song being picked out on her father's old Martin guitar, the resonance of his voice as he sang one of his favorite Dylan songs, a moment left in the recesses of her mind not yet fully erased by age and time.

 _Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow..._ _Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with[one hand waving free](https://youtu.be/GnYR_pPVKjk)..._

She didn't feel comfortable singing it out loud, so she hummed instead. Every now and then, she would look up to find where Dennis was at. He never stayed in one position for long, almost like a vigilant watchdog. Casey appreciated that about him. She also liked that he never tried to force a conversation. He gave her plenty of space and didn't express any impatience for her to hurry. She was almost positive that he looked back at her at times, although she never caught him at it. She only felt him. It was nothing like the shameful sort of awareness that she had when other men pored over her body. 

When she waded nearer to the bank where he stood, she broke their silence. "I know this place."

Dennis turned to eye her curiously. "You've been here before?"

"I don't think so," she said, "but I know it somehow." She plopped down to sit on the sun-heated rock where she'd set her socks and boots, then scooted up a bit to get out of the water and rolled the cuffs of her pants back down to her ankles.

"It's one of my favorite places," he said, taking in the view around him. "I like to come here...when I need to get away from things for a while."

"I can see why." As Casey tied her shoelaces, it suddenly hit her. "The picture! I saw it at your house. On the shelves in the living room."

"You noticed that?"

She nodded. "Almost as soon as I walked in."

Dennis seemed incredulous. "Why?"

"Well, because they're beautiful," she answered. "Barry told me that you made the shelves too. That's pretty amazing."

The lines between his brows nearly melted away, and he appeared almost boyish somehow. His expression mellowed so much that Casey thought that one of the other alters might have transitioned in to take his place, but when he spoke again, he was still Dennis, thankfully. "And...you like the picture of this place the best?"

Casey saw an unspoken eagerness in him, that familiar spark of a creative spirit recognized, and she knew in an instant that Dennis must have been the one to take those pictures. 

"I like  _all_ of them," she told him. "If I had to pick a favorite though...maybe the one with the bench and the mist on the water?"

"At the pier," he said, soft and low. A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his pink lips. "That's one of my favorites too."

She searched for something else to say as she pushed herself up to stand beside him. She nervously brushed the pad of her thumb over her upper lip and had the fleeting and unfamiliar hope that she might look as pretty now, sweat and all, as she had felt earlier in the day in front of the bathroom mirror. She had no idea what Dennis could see as the final rays of daylight shone through the tree line behind her, illuminating her in an orange glow as familiar and comforting as Hedwig's tiger nightlight.

"So did you take the picture of the waterfall here?" she asked, reveling in the feeling of the rising evening breeze as she tugged her dark hair free from her bun and let it fall to her shoulders.

"They're all mine," he answered, and suddenly bashful, he cast his attention away from her toward the darkening sky.

To tell him that she liked his pictures, even loved them, was easy enough. But to tell him how she had taken time to examine them, how she wanted to paint the way he took pictures, how each one made her feel a different and deep emotion...that was somehow more difficult to get out. Every single picture on those shelves, alongside Hedwig's crayoned drawings, captured something powerful and ethereal.

Instead, she said the obvious: "I didn't know you were a photographer."

"I'm not," he protested gently. "It's just something I like to do when I have the time...which isn't often. It's...it's nothing, really."

"It's not nothing," she replied, stepping closer. "You have an eye for it."

He tried to shrug off her words, but she saw beneath the cautious mask he forced on. Something there reminded her of Hedwig's awed reaction when she told him she thought he was special. 

"You're just being nice."

"Seriously, I think they're amazing. And some of them..." she paused, thinking of the sewer grate in the rain. "It's like you see beauty that others can't see."

He turned and focused intently on her again, and the rest of the world blurred away from her view.

"You really think that?" He spoke almost to quietly to be heard over the flow of water, but she caught every word on his lips.

Unable to say anything else, she nodded.

He wanted to thank her; she could see that. But she also knew that would probably feel like he was acknowledging his talent, and someone as modest as Dennis wouldn't do that easily.

"I mean, they're not great or anything," he continued. "But I...it's nice that...well, I'm glad that you like them."

"I do." Casey began playing with her hair, finger-combing the tangles out. He seemed to be trying to communicate something else left unspoken, but she couldn't discern it at all.

Dennis's eyes dropped to where she was coiling a thick strand of her dark hair around her index finger, then he drew his lower lip under his tongue and raked his teeth lightly over the same spot. Then he turned and said over his shoulder, "I don't mean to rush you, but it's almost dark." 

"We can go now," she said, thinking how strange it was that returning to his home should be such a welcome thought to her.

Together, they shook out the quilt and then folded it by its corners, and Casey was careful not to let him see her watching his stern face as he worked. Then Dennis let her lead the way as they trekked back to the car, leaving their paradise behind them but taking a little of its peace with them.

While they walked, Casey soaked in all she could of these last moments outside. She wanted to brand this afternoon into her brain and never forget any part of it, the sounds, the sights, the stillness, and the exchange between them. There was nothing false in Dennis's humility, and she both admired and deeply understood it. She thought about the way his face brightened at her compliment about his pictures. His reaction had pushed a potent feeling like happiness through her veins, an intoxicating drug. She wanted it again.

Along the path, she spotted a cluster of bright wildflowers and decided she wanted one to press and save as a memento of the day. Dennis said nothing when she stopped, and he waited while she gathered a small bunch of the six-petaled stars along with some white yarrow and tall grass blades in a makeshift bouquet. Then they set off again, crunching their way down the gravel path. The flowers she picked were yellow...Kevin's favorite color, she remembered. She wondered if it was Dennis's favorite too, given his yellow handkerchief that he always seemed to keep on hand and the shade of fresh mums he set by her pillow on the night he kidnapped her.

She waited as Dennis tossed their trash and situated the quilt back into its proper spot in the trunk, and then he opened the passenger side door for her. She was about to get in when she paused, and feeling braver, she faced him again.

"Thank you for today," she said tenderly. "For bringing me here."

With that, she took one of her flowers and timidly moved to tuck it into the square shirt pocket at his chest. The distinguished pair of lines reappeared between his brows, but he didn't protest. Her touch lingered only a second longer before she pulled back again with trembling fingers. It had been a foolish, childish whim, surely. She guessed he wouldn't care either way about her thanks or the flower. He'd probably throw it away as soon as he was alone, maybe sooner.

He ducked his chin to peer down at the foreign little bloom peeking out from his pocket. "Well..." His voice was as gentle as when he'd coaxed her from her hiding place in the tub. "Well." He didn't seem to know how to respond, but there was a soft indecipherable expression on his face. The delicate skin rimming the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled, and Casey was hit with that same tingling heat. It tickled her belly and forced a smile on her lips.

Embarrassed at the sudden intimacy in the quiet left between them, she lowered her gaze. Still, her smile wouldn't go away. She didn't  _want_ it to go away when she looked back up at him with dusky lashes framing her dark eyes, reflecting like stars in the falling twilight.

Dennis swallowed, barely audibly, and his fingers began to anxiously toy with the keys on his belt loop. "We'd better go now."

Casey forced herself to sit down in the car, but something inside her felt light enough to fly.

The feathery white clouds of the afternoon had flattened in the evening like strawberry cream icing spread thin over the sun's last light. As they drove, in the approaching plummy darkness from the east, Casey could see the occasional sparkling bursts of fireworks being set off early at some of the homes outside city limits in celebratory flickers of whites, blues, and bright reds.

Her smile remained even as they exited the tollway and pulled back onto the city streets. Somehow, in its simplicity, the day had been one of the best she could ever remember. The ebullient rising voices in a song playing on the radio plucked at some freeing string inside Casey's heart, and she didn't ignore the impulse to roll down her window as the car crossed back over the Schuylkill River. 

"Hey," Dennis said, unnerved and trying to sound stern. "What are you doing?"

Some forgotten joy that had been roped away now bubbled up into her throat and passed her lips in an amused giggle, and not even the forced frown on his face could sober her. "Don't you ever like to drive with the windows down?"

"No," he replied plainly, speaking louder to be heard over the music and the sudden rush of air. He shook his head. "It gets dust everywhere."

"Just until the song's over?" she sweetly begged. She could see he was beginning to give. "Some music just needs to breathe."

He sighed and nodded his response, and Casey immediately stuck her right hand out into the cool breeze, winging freely and then opening her bandaged palm to catch the resistance of the wind against her skin.

When the volume of the radio went up, ever so slightly, she turned with some shock to find Dennis retracting his hand from the stereo controls. Without a word between them, they exchanged glances, and before he turned his attention back to the road, he offered her a sheepish closed-lipped grin and made no attempt to conceal it. It was a moment she knew she would never forget for the rest of her life, the first time she saw Dennis's real, unguarded smile.

He let her keep the window down all the way back to the zoo.

 

_Song playing on the windows-down car ride over the bridge:["Poems" by Hippo Campus](https://youtu.be/a9L1KL2DUqM)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally posted this one on July 2, 2017, which was awesome timing. Around that time, it was actually storming a lot in Pennsylvania, and I remember that's why I wrote so much rain into the story during this stretch. 
> 
> Chapter title is from lyrics of Bob Dylan's "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man," which is an awesome song, but I especially like the guitar in the Helio Sequence cover version that I linked.
> 
> Also "Poems" by Hippo Campus just fit the moment in my mind as I was doing some windows-down driving of my own and thinking about this part of the story. I like the lyrics, "Certain love of mine with the palest blue eyes, in a collared shirt." :)


	18. If I Seem a Little Strange, That's Because I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey's birthday, more Barry, and a new appearance...

The clattering of dishes in the kitchen was a welcome sound to Casey's ears when she stepped out of the shower the following morning. 

He was awake.

After their day together, she and Dennis had said their awkward goodnights and retreated to separate rooms. That's when the old heart-pounding anxiety reappeared without warning for Casey. Every good thing in her life had been a trick, taken away almost as soon as it was given, and something inside her worried that if she let her guard down, if she allowed herself to relax into the safety that his presence was beginning to provide, that it would be swiftly stolen away from her like everything else. She was up half the night huddled in Hedwig's bed, trying to steady her breathing as her logic warred with her heart. The bedside clock ticked on, eventually passing midnight and moving into her birthday, July 3rd.

Hedwig didn't visit her in the night either, as a part of her had hoped he might. When she stirred that morning, she rolled over, half-expecting to find him nestled beside her with his fingers clasped around a lock of her hair, but instead she was alone as usual. 

Now, she headed toward the kitchen on shower-damp feet and paused at the doorway to watch him where he stood at the stove. It was Barry. She knew by the way he was humming and swaying his hips to the song on the radio as he cooked, and it made her smile. She had missed him, she realized. And not just Barry. All of him.

Barry caught sight of her when he turned toward the table to shovel some scrambled eggs from the frying pan onto two plates arranged with slices of avocado, oven-roasted tomatoes, and crisp golden toast.

"Youuu," he drawled. "Get in here!"

After he swept her into his solid arms for a quick hug, he patted her back and told her to sit down and cover her eyes. Although she was hesitant at first, she saw the way he was beaming, so she did as he asked. 

She could hear the sharp scratching strike of a match against a sandpapery matchbook cover and the sudden "shh" as it sparked into flame. Then Barry's voice, warm and gentle as his hugs, told her, "Alright. Open your eyes."

Before her on the table, a sunny yellow cupcake, replete with pearly sprinkles scattered over its thick buttercream icing, sat on a saucer waiting for her. Barry had even lit a tiny white candle and stuck it in the top. Her heart swelled, and her throat tightened to hold back her happy tears.

"You remembered," she breathed.

Not even her uncle managed to remember her birthday every year. For so long, after consistently being disappointed and neglected, summer after summer, she told herself that birthdays didn't matter anyway. That it was a ridiculous custom to celebrate the passing of just another calendar year, the same as before. But while Casey's dad was still alive, he always made sure she had a special day. Looking back, she realized that making a big deal out of her birthday was just as much for himself as it was for her. It got his mind off of what he had lost on the day his daughter arrived in the world.

Barry's plump pink lips spread into his particular Barry sort of smile. "Well, of course! How could I forget? And before you go off saying I shouldn't have, it was no trouble. There's a great bakery just two blocks away, and I passed right by there on my morning run. Now go on. Make a wish!"

Casey's mind blanked on anything to wish for. After all, wishing was useless; it couldn't make anything _really_ come true. But when she leaned forward and blew out the flame, eyes closed, a picture popped up in her mind's eye. It was an impossible dream, maybe, but she supposed it would suffice for her wish. 

"Happy birthday, sweet girl." Barry's chair squeaked over the floor as he pulled it out to plop down across from her and start in on his meal. "I would sing for you too, but I'd put every other voice you've ever heard to shame," he teased in his good-natured way.

Casey halved the lemon cupcake down its middle for them to share while Barry carried the majority of the conversation. By the time they were nearly done with the meal, she learned more about Barry than she knew about anyone, right from his first appearance. They had also figured out their plans for a fun day out together after she did what she had to do: going to the police. 

While she dreaded having to face any police officers, she also knew that it was time to call off the search. She wasn't missing anymore, after all.

After swallowing a bite, Barry gestured at her with his fork. "I could really get used to this, y'know...our little breakfasts together." 

"Me too." Even though Casey wasn't a morning person, she liked Barry's cheery easy-going attitude. His talkative nature never felt too overbearing or annoying like the chatter of her schoolmates during the earliest classes of the day. 

"I never really have anyone else to talk to like this," he continued. "I mean, I get out and have fun when I can. And I talk to some of the others at work sometimes, but that's really only when Dennis lets me out. I'm the one who gets to help us fit in with people a little better. But, uh..." He looked down at his plate. "See, no one gets to know the _real_ me. They only know the man that Dennis and I do our best to pretend to be at work."

Casey heard the loneliness in his voice. "You pretend to be Kevin around other people?"

"It's not that we like to lie. It's just the way it has to be to keep people from..." His eyes were shining with tears. "Ugh, I'm a wreck lately," he sighed, briskly wiping a finger under his lower lash line. "It's just that...people aren't always understanding like you. The nicest people in the world get cold...real cold...once they realize that...well, that it's not just Kevin in here." He pointed at his head. " _That's_ why we do it. We're all used to being told that we're faking it or that we're crazy..."

"You're not crazy," she said.

"Thank you for that, honey." He reached across the table to squeeze her hand, and after a pause, he said, "We've just done all we can to make sure Kevin keeps his job. And we try to keep our lives as normal as possible outside of that." Then he seemed more solemn, almost dark. "Until _this_  mess, I mean. Is it terrible that I almost forgot how we met for a minute there?" he asked, chin down.

The fact that he was technically her kidnapper always stayed somewhere in the back of her mind, but the caution she'd clung to initially was beginning to fade away. "You aren't to blame."

"Well, _someone_ sure as hell is. And maybe it's terrible to say this, but...I'm glad it happened. Not the _way_ it happened, but I just mean, I'm glad we met. I've never taken to someone so fast. I think we kind of get each other, don't we?" 

She nodded. "I think so."

Then Barry's left brow darted upward in an amused expression, and as if he couldn't help himself, he remarked, "I understand you and Dennis had a chat yesterday."

Casey flushed. "He told you?"

"Oh, he gave me his usual talking-to about the credit card again. Said he would let me keep what I bought, but that he was 'this close'" - At that, he pinched his index finger and thumb together and gave a brief and rather poor imitation of Dennis's stern expression. - "to taking it all back. Well, I asked him, I said, why he didn't just go ahead and do it if he was so damn fired up about it. And then he said that _you,_  little miss, persuaded him not to."

"I shouldn't have butted in. It wasn't any of my business."

"Well, I'm glad you did. You saved my new clothes!"

"But he seemed so mad. And when he went back into the mall, I thought..."

"Wait a second," he interrupted. "You were _with_ him? You were at the _mall._ With  _Dennis_."

Casey hadn't realized how much he did or didn't know. "Yeah. I mean, I didn't go in or anything. I stayed in the car. I just wanted to get outside for a change."

"And he just...let you?" Barry looked genuinely surprised.

"Yeah." Casey fidgeted with her layered bracelets.

Barry's lips twisted to the side, poorly hiding a smile. "You could've gone with _me_  before if you wanted, y'know." 

She wasn't sure why she chose to go with Dennis instead when Barry was so much warmer and easier to get to know.

"Well, I'm just glad you got out of this dungeon for a while." With a twinkle in his eye, he continued, "I suppose it's none of my business, but...if you _want,_ you can tell me about it."

Although she'd spent all her life holding everything in, keeping all her secrets crammed inside, she found she wanted to talk to someone who understood. Before she could overthink it, she let herself tell Barry a few more details about the day with Dennis. She even told him about their impromptu picnic in the park, although she left out the bits that she regarded as more intimate and secret, like the discussion about Dennis's pictures...the yellow star flower she'd picked for him and tucked into his pocket...the car ride home with the music playing and the night breeze tousling her hair...and that brief, bright smile shared between them.

Barry was attentive the whole time. No one ever seemed to care as much as he did; no one bothered to find out anything about her or what her days were like before him. He let her talk as long as she felt comfortable, and when she was finished, he rubbed at his morning shadow to allow a pause before responding, "Well, it sounds like you had a really nice day."

She sensed he was holding back. "But?"

"No 'but' here. It's just...I've never known Dennis to let _any_ one around him like that before. Ever." He shook his head. "Did he talk much at all?"

"I don't have anything to really compare it to, but he talked to me sometimes. I kind of felt like maybe I was getting to know him. As much as he'd allow." Barry nodded like he understood, and she continued. "But then when we got back here last night, everything felt different again."

"Hmm. Maybe not different so much as just back to normal. It's nothing to worry about. You know how I told you that Dennis doesn't open up to anyone much. That's just the way he is." Barry paused. "But he must like you enough to let you be around him."

Casey allowed herself to ask what she wanted so desperately to know. "Why me?"

"Well, I know he feels guilty, but I don't think that's the reason. Not entirely anyway. Maybe...maybe it's something like how you and I took to being friends so fast. There's no way I could say for sure. He's a mystery even to me." Barry bobbed over his lip with a finger as he thought, and for a while, neither of them said anything. He eventually broke the silence again and mused, "You know, he's very protective of you. He's got specific rules for me when I get to be in the light. Your safety is top priority to him. Well, next to not spending too much money." He winked. "I figure he won't mind about a little cupcake."

Casey liked that. She liked thinking that even when she wasn't around, maybe even when he wasn't in the light, Dennis could be thinking of her. 

"I love having you here," he continued. "Little One does too. That mess barely stays still in his chair waiting for the next time he can come see you. And it sounds like Dennis likes having you around alright too." There was a slight pause. "But...I'd be lying if I said I didn't have some misgivings about letting you stay here with us for long."

Casey bit her lip and said nothing, but Barry saw how her face fell.

"Oh baby girl, I'm not saying I don't want you here. Trust me, I do! Like I said, I could really get used to having you around with me, but I'm no fool. I know we can't keep you. No one should have to be around all of _this_ all the time. We've always known, all of us, that...well, we can't have the same things other normal people can."

"That's not true." 

"I don't want to lose the first friend I've had in years. Maybe the first _real_ friend of my life." He smiled a little sadly.

"You're mine too," she told him.

He reached across the table and took her hand in his again. "I'm so thankful for that. You have no idea how much," he told her. "But we've got to worry about holding down Kevin's job above everything else. Dennis works 40 or 50 hours a week. This vacation time he took isn't going to last much longer, and before you know it, he'll be back to the grindstone. There's no way he can take care of that plus all his other responsibilities  _and_ keep an eye on you." Casey knew he was right. "Besides, as long as Patricia still has any mixed-up notions, not even Dennis can truly guarantee your safety right now." 

"But if she's banished from the light..."

"She was banished before," Barry reminded her. "But she still came back, didn't she? Pushed Orwell and me out of the way before we even knew what was happening. I was powerless. I don't ever want to feel that way again. I don't want to think what could happen if Dennis couldn't be there to stop her next time."

"Dennis wouldn't let that happen though." She realized as she spoke the words how implicitly she trusted his strength.

"He's definitely seen through her now, hard as that must have been for him. But if she gets through to Little One somehow...if she could convince him to keep the rest of us from the light..." He paused. "Christ, I guess anything's possible. I don't want to think about what might happen with just Patricia holding the reins. We could lose everything. And there's no way you'd be safe. Little One thinks the world of you, but he's terrified of her. I think he might do anything she says if we lost him from our side again."

"So you want me to go." 

"No, no, I don't mean it like that. It's just that you've got your whole life ahead of you."

"So do you," she pressed back. "It's not like you're an old man or something."

He chuckled. "True enough. Kevin's only 26. But Orwell might beg to differ. That man acts like he's already ten years past retirement. You're right though. We're not old. But I just want you to live life to the fullest. You're free in a way that I never -" He stopped mid-sentence to take a hard swallow. "You're free in a way that I never got to be. Never  _will_ get to be. You're not tied down like I am in this body with the others. Now you're free of that...that situation, none of us want to see you go back to that. Not ever."

"But I don't know where to go or what to do if I leave here. I don't have money. I didn't even apply to a college. And I've never had a job. Not even babysitting. My uncle said that a woman's place is at home. That I'd always be _his_."

A dark cloud passed over Barry's face, and she could see he was trying to hold his tongue for her sake. He shook his anger off and chose his words carefully. "Listen, sweet girl. Your place is wherever _you_ decide it is. He doesn't get a say anymore, okay? No one else does. Just you."

"Okay," she said, nodding in response. It was a relief to hear. Somehow, the idea hadn't fully sunk in, but she liked imagining what it would be like to finally get to make decisions for herself. "And what if I decide that my place is here with you?"

Barry grinned. "I guess I wouldn't stop you. You know you're smart enough for college. You mentioned applying. Is that something you wanna try?"

"There's no way I can afford it."

"Oh, pfft, no one can anymore. Doesn't stop 'em. Not when they have a dream," he told her. "What about community college? You could take some basic Gen Ed courses there for cheap. And maybe it's not too late to get some financial aid for the fall. I know for a fact they've got some good art classes. Drama, pottery, photography...all kinds of artsy stuff. Lot cheaper than university too. Maybe it'd help you figure out for sure what you wanna do."

"Maybe," she said. She hadn't really considered that as an option, but the idea intrigued her. 

Barry gathered their empty dishes and once again tossed them, scraps and all, into the sink without rinsing. "Well, I've never seen anyone light up when it comes to something they love as much as you did when you were showing me your sketches the other night." He sat back down. "What if you were able to take a side job of some kind? Something here at the zoo maybe. Dennis might know if they have any part-time openings. Or you could sling coffee, wait tables. Find a nice restaurant where you'd make some good tips. I've done that myself. It's hard work, but the money can be worth it. Something where you have enough to support yourself while you work on your passion. Your art."

Casey tossed the idea over in her mind. It sounded scary, having to apply for jobs and work alongside other people, but if it afforded her the opportunity to spend the rest of her time on art...

"Just something to think about," he told her. "You know my passion is the only reason I kept going at times. Dr. Fletcher, she's such a sweet woman. She really encourages me to keep at fashion design even if I can't pursue it full-time like other people can. And I'll tell you now, just like she told me, don't let that spark go. Don't you settle for something that kills your spirit."

"Don't you like your job?"

He shook his head. "It was always for Kevin and Dennis more than anyone else. Almost a miracle that they got it, too. You'd be surprised how many places don't want to hire someone with DID. Not everyone has the amount of control that we do over who shows up and when. That's thanks to Dennis. And not everyone has a Dennis. Well, enough of all this serious stuff," Barry continued. "Come on, let's go have some fun for your birthday! And...do you still feel ready to see the police?"

Casey took a breath and nodded. She knew it was the right thing to do. At least she would be able to go out in public without fear after today. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"You're still scared," he said understandingly.

"Yeah."

"I know you said they always made you go back to him every time you ran away before, but that's not gonna happen this time. They can't do that now. You're legally an adult. You belong to no one but you! And I can be right there with you if you want."

Casey wasn't entirely sure she was as free as Barry insisted she was. It was difficult to imagine she'd ever truly be out of her uncle's reach. Even if she was legally free of his guardianship, she figured he'd never give up trying to get her back, especially if he knew she was still alive and in Philadelphia.

"Honey." He interrupted her thoughts. "You're brooding."

Casey let out a sigh.

"See? You're holding onto the past in your mind. Worry doesn't do any good, now does it? It just takes away from the present moment. So you do what _you_ want to do today. If you don't see the police, fine. But let's at least make your birthday count. This is a day to celebrate!" 

Just then, Barry's iPhone began to vibrate against the kitchen countertop, and he twisted in his chair and picked it up to peer at the screen. 

"I've gotta take this," he told her. "You go on ahead and get ready, and I'll try to finish this call up as fast as I can. Then we'll get outta here and head to the station first thing, okay? Then it's fun all afternoon for us!"

With that, he paced out to the hallway and answered the phone as he walked. "Dr. Fletcher! How are you? Same here, great. Doing just great...It's so good to hear from you! What's it been, a month?...Oh. Oh! Listen to me, forgetting something like that. No, you're absolutely right, we _did_ talk last week on the phone. I'm just getting to be an old man with this memory slipping," he teased, clearly trying to play off his blunder. Casey knew Dennis had been the one pretending to be Barry on the phone. She had heard it from the confines of her room where they kept her at first. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. Well, of course, I wasn't gonna butt in yesterday. No, that was Dennis's time with you." The next pause was a little longer, and as he walked farther into the office, his words became harder to make out. "What's to worry about?"

Barry shut the office door behind him, and that was the last she heard. Minutes passed, and Casey still sat frozen where she was at the kitchen table. It no longer came naturally to her to be positive about what was to come, but with Barry around, she could almost believe in happy endings.

She didn't bother taking as much time getting ready as she had when she knew Dennis was in the light. And yet, when she was done, Barry still hadn't come back out.

An hour later, she could still hear him talking. As she approached the office door, the voice she heard was much deeper and wasn't affected with the same accent as Barry or Dennis. He spoke rapidly and without pause, every word purposeful and strong. Unable to fight her curiosity, she pressed her ear against the door to listen. 

"I liken the entirety of this episode to the period when the Sultan Shah was expelled from Khwarezm by his own brother, Tekish. He was powerless. Completely powerless. Like _we_ were! Banished with no access to the light. He took refuge in Ghor. Even when he requested aid from Ghiyath, there was no help. Only when a foreign friend, the Kara-Khitan Khanate, offered him help, he was finally free again...sometime in 1175 or thereabouts. This girl, this stranger...in my mind, she could be likened to the Khanate. For so long, I felt that Barry and I would have to rally our strength to stand up to all three of them...the Horde, as I called them. But with _her_ here, it seems that things may have shifted for the better. The previous dynamic between Dennis, Patricia, and the boy has completely changed. Thankfully, they see through Patricia's fanaticism now, and if I am not mistaken, this new girl, the one Patricia exercised her will over Dennis to have kidnapped and brought here, she may hold the key to keeping them all out of Patricia's grips. There's something special inside her, or so Barry says. I can't say for sure. I haven't met her yet. But Barry keeps worrying that Patricia is capable of re-emerging. I've assured him that history proves even the most powerful dictators can fall. She'll remain in exile, and perhaps we can attempt to get her help, but only if we all stay strong and band together."

Casey pulled back. If she had to guess, she assumed it was the last personality she had yet to meet: Orwell. She wasn't sure if he was still talking to Dr. Fletcher on the phone or to himself. Either way, he didn't seem frightening. And based on what she heard, he seemed to appreciate her presence here.

She stepped away and went back to Hedwig's room to think and wait. She hoped that Barry would come out again soon.

When she heard the man emerge from the office that evening, hours later, she excitedly burst from the bedroom and searched around for him. It didn't take long for her to find him. He sat on the corner of the sectional couch in the living room, just setting the needle down on a record to play. Three thick hardback books were piled beside him on the couch cushion, and another was splayed open on his lap. He wore glasses too, not at all like Dennis's. They were large rounded bifocals rimmed with thin gold wire. As she approached, he looked up and rather than speak, he merely looked her over as if he were studying an interesting piece in an art museum, then he offered her a polite smile before speaking.

"You must be the one I've heard so much about." His voice was deeper than Dennis's, it seemed, or maybe, she realized it only seemed so because of the amount of volume he used when he spoke.

"I'm Casey," she replied, looking him over too.

He had changed clothes. It seemed that when the personalities had a chance, they liked to wear the clothes that fit them the best, like Hedwig and his tracksuits, Dennis and his neat all-black outfits, and of course, Barry and his fashionable attire. Orwell wore a vintage brown corduroy jacket with faded oval patches at the elbows, an ivory button-up shirt, and a brown and gold-striped neck tie that might well have been found in a thrift store along with his pressed brown pants and scuffed but matching lace-up shoes. He looked every bit the part of an old college professor in a movie.

"I'm Orwell," he said. "Orwell Keating. We haven't been properly introduced yet." He moved the open book from his lap carefully to the top of the pile beside him.

Casey shook her head, unsure of what to say besides "It's nice to finally meet you."

Orwell's calm voice and almost grandfatherly mannerisms put her nerves to rest, but she was a little stunned by the change. It was still hard to absorb how separate and different each personality was inside the body of the man she was growing to know.

He stood only long enough to shake her hand and then sat back down on the couch.

"You'll forgive me, but I've been away for quite a while, and I'm rather eager to dig back into my reading." He crossed one leg over the other to balance his book on his knee.

"It's just..." she began, unsure of what would be the right way to say it. "Barry and I kind of made plans. See, it's my birthday today..."

Orwell fiddled with the tip of his neck tie. "Unfortunately, I have no power over when I get to come into the light or when I go out. I do hate to spoil your plans, but this _is_ my only time right now to be out today. Do you mind terribly?"

He presented his case so politely and almost apologetically that Casey had no choice but to concede. 

"No," Casey replied. "I don't mind." She felt bad for him, truth be told. She had met the others a few times already, but she'd been here over a week, and this was the first time she'd seen Orwell in the light. She was disappointed, but she didn't let on like she was. Instead, she asked if it might be alright to stay with him and read too. He nodded his agreement.

Stifling a dispirited sigh, she made her way over to the gold wingback chair situated closest to Kevin's comic books and sat there. Even with distance between them from where they sat on opposite sides of the lengthy living room, it still gave her some comfort to have him nearby, no matter which alter was in the light. The original plans might be ruined, she supposed, but it wasn't an entire loss. It could've been far worse, after all, she told herself. If Dennis hadn't stood up to Patricia, she might not have ever even seen her eighteenth birthday. Still, she had been looking forward to her first visit to the Shofuso Japanese House and Garden. She and Barry had been planning to bring their art supplies to the gardens and take part in a real tea ceremony. Their plans would just have to wait for now. Barry would be back sooner or later. 

She took down a comic book about Mysterio from the shelves and carefully separated it from its clear dust jacket to flip through its pages, but as the minutes ticked on, she found herself watching Orwell from the corner of her eye.

As he pored over his book, he silently mumbled each word to himself as he went down each line, absorbing it quickly and fully. She didn't know how in the world he could pay attention with the music playing like that, even though it was set on a relatively low volume. Parts of the songs were jarring, those high-noted vibratos in a language she couldn't understand, but some of it was surprisingly beautiful. She couldn't stop herself from interrupting Orwell to ask what it was.

"You've never heard this before?" He eyed her from behind his bifocals.

"I know all kinds of music," she answered, "but I've never listened to opera."

"So you've never heard Puccini?"

Casey shook her head in response. 

"Oh my." He seemed shocked. "Well, what would you like to know about it?"

Casey shrugged. "What's to know?"

"Plenty," he answered. "More than plenty. This opera in particular is called _Turandot_. One of Giacomo Puccini's finest, arguably. In my opinion, it's his best without question. I guess you could say my area of study partially lies in its beginnings. The story itself was originally based on the work of Nizami. Does that ring a bell?"

Once again, Casey shook her head no.

"Nizami was a Persian poet who lived in the 12th century. Many, including myself, consider him one of the most significant poets of that time and certainly the greatest creator of romantic epics in Persian literature." Orwell stopped. "I tend to let my mind get ahead of my tongue sometimes. I think I bore people with details that are probably only interesting to me."

"You're not boring me," she assured him. She got up from the chair and set the comic book carefully back on the shelf where she'd found it, then walked over to sit cross-legged in the floor on the rug next to him. "Tell me all you want."

He smiled at that, and inside his lips was the faintest hint of the same smile she'd seen on Dennis's face last night.

"Well then," Orwell said after clearing his throat with a _harumph,_ "Nizami wrote this epic in the 1100s. It was called _Hafy Paykar,_  or The Seven Beauties. Now, this was pre-Islamic times in Persia, and the work was dedicated to the ruler of..."

Orwell rambled on and on about "The Seven Beauties" for quite a while, but Casey was riveted. She was fascinated that anyone could know so much and recall so many details and facts as he did, down to names and dates, without looking up a single bit of it on the internet or in his books. 

"...Then Puccini happened across an interpretation of one of those seven stories, and in 1920, he began composing an opera based on that very work. The story goes that Turan's daughter, or Turandot, was very beautiful but also very cold. Men from far and wide came to ask her to marry them, and she turned them all away. Even had them killed. Then one day, a stranger came, a prince who desperately wanted to marry her. She declared he must solve three riddles first. Any wrong answer would mean his immediate death. Against all odds, he passed the tests. He solved all three riddles. He did what no other man could do so far!" Orwell exclaimed animatedly. "In fact, we're coming to the song that he sings at that point in the story very soon here. You see, she still refused to marry him even though he solved every riddle, fair and square. Since she refused, he was gracious and offered her a way out of the bargain. If she could learn his name before dawn, then he swore to her that at daybreak, he would die for her. But if she did not, then they must be wed. He would be hers for all eternity, and she would be his."

"So what happened?" Casey asked, surprised at herself for becoming as interested as she was in Orwell's long tale.

"You'll have to see it for yourself someday. I can't spoil it for you. But the song he sang that night is perhaps one of the most beautiful tenor arias of all time. It's called "[Nessun Dorma](https://youtu.be/vTGl4VDQzAg)," or " _None shall sleep_."

Casey couldn't understand the words, but something about the music struck her heart even before Orwell quietly began translating it for her, his voice reverent and low.

" _My secret is hidden within me...No one will know my name until...on your mouth, I will speak it...when the light shines..._ " Orwell paused, letting the music speak for itself in haunting swells. "' _Vanish, darkness. Fade, you stars...In the light, I will win._ "

Orwell's voice trailed off, and his eyes closed. Goosebumps popped up all over Casey's arms as they both listened to the end. That night, they unexpectedly became two souls joined in the moment by music and a story created in a faraway land thousands of years before them.

 

X X X X X

 

The evening passed more quickly than she had expected. After all, she knew waking up late had taken up a big part of the morning, but now there was no way she could expect her original birthday plans with Barry to still be viable. It was past 8 in the evening by the time Orwell started putting his books and records away. He told her he needed to finish up his video journal for the day, a custom he explained that each one of them tried to complete as often as they were able as part of their therapy.

Casey took up his warm spot on the couch to lie down, then pulled the throw blanket over her body. She turned the TV on for some distraction until her eyelids grew heavy. Before she realized it, she was ushered into sleep by the comfortable warmth of Orwell's body heat left behind in the weave of the couch's fabric.

By the time she woke up, almost the entire place was dark, were it not for the small globe light left on over the kitchen sink in the next room. Casey let out a relieved sigh. No bad dreams, no good dreams. Just pure, restorative sleep...the kind she always needed but so rarely got to have.

She cast the throw blanket behind her onto the sectional as she sleepily trudged toward the kitchen. She couldn't see any sign of him anywhere, and the clock on the tiny kitchen radio read "12:42 AM." 

Casey chided herself; she'd been napping for hours. She wondered what he'd kept himself busy with all that time. As she passed by the office door, which was still shut, no lamplight leaked from the crack beneath the door, so she guessed he was asleep. A part of her hated that she missed seeing him again.

When she saw how clean the kitchen was after the mess Barry had left behind from brunch, she realized Dennis must have come out and cleaned. He probably tried hard not to make noise or bother her from her nap. Then he had left the kitchen light on just for her.

As she made her way to Hedwig's bedroom, it struck her that she had never felt safe enough in her uncle's house to sleep on the couch so unguarded like that. Uncle John would have seen her vulnerability as a prime opportunity. That hadn't even been a consideration in her mind when she drifted off earlier, and she knew she truly felt safe here with him now.

She might've entirely missed the new addition that lay on the dresser had she not reached for her new face wipes to clean off her makeup. 

There it was, waiting for her just beside her key and the few other toiletries that had been neatly arranged back into order, labels facing forward, by the touch of a careful hand. It was a plain brown parchment-wrapped rectangle of paper, unaddressed, with no words or lettering on the outside.

_Story Soundtrack:["Butterfly Comb"](https://youtu.be/43CHbBY8Ur8)_

With curious fingers, Casey picked it up and carefully unwrapped the parchment to reveal its contents. When she saw what had been left there for her, the smile started at her eyes and spread slowly across her lips. 

It was a 5 x 7 printed photograph, unframed but left protected inside clear plastic casing and backed by thick card stock. It was the waterfall at Wissahickon. After staring at it for a few happy minutes, she turned it over to see if he might have signed it, but there was nothing. No other notes were left on the dresser either. 

Just the photograph of the waterfall, packaged for her with care.

It was the best birthday gift she ever received. Careful not to bend it, she lightly pressed the photograph directly over her heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back over this chapter, I worried it might be too wordy, but I wanted you to get to know Orwell.
> 
> I love love love reading your comments and thoughts! I'll respond as soon as I get the next few chapters posted...here goes!


	19. Nothing to Go Back to Now

The following day, once their plans were laid out, Casey and Barry made their way through the holiday traffic toward the Philadelphia Police Headquarters. Barry stayed upbeat, singing along to music and making funny observations as he drove, and she appreciated him for that. She knew he was only trying to distract her from what lay ahead. Still, somewhere inside her, dread crept deeper in her gut the closer they got to the police station. Rather than engage in conversation, she remained solemn and watched the world go by her window.

On their way over the Schuylkill River, she spotted a wall of thick gray thunderheads rolling in slowly from the direction of the Atlantic, harbingers of a storm that would likely hit within hours. Right now, however, the sun was blazing hot, unimpeded by any clouds and beating down on all the people making their way into the heart of the city for the holiday festivities.

"You're barely talking to me at all," Barry commented, interrupting her thoughts.

"I barely talk _ever,"_ she bantered back.

"I mean I can tell you're upset. You know I care. If you want to talk to me about it." He paused, waiting for a reply. "Should I just shut up?"

"No, keep talking."

"I don't think I'm helping any."

"You are," answered Casey. "Listening to you helps me stop thinking too much."

"Oh, _well_!" Barry said in an affected tone, and he clucked his tongue against his teeth, pretending to be offended. "So glad to know what I have to say is so important to you!"

She let out a small giggle. "That's not how I meant it."

He seemed glad to have made her laugh again, and he played it out a little more. "Sure, sure! I read you loud and clear, missy."

"What you say _is_ important to me. I just meant that having you here...it makes my brain calm down."

He scanned the street for a parking spot near the station after giving her an encouraging glance. "Well, I'm glad of that, but honey, it still seems like you're not doing so great even with me being here."

She sighed and twisted her the tip of her finger around the red threads of one of the bracelets on her slim wrist. "I shouldn't be this nervous. It's no big deal, right? And I've dealt with cops before."

"Hey, it's alright to be nervous about something like this," he assured her. "But I want you to know that everything is gonna be okay. You'll probably be in and out in ten minutes!"

"Maybe." Casey hoped he was right, but seeing the station as they circled the block made her hold her breath. 

It was a unique building that she might normally have admired, but today she felt unnerved by its appearance. The rows of its opaque rectangular windows seemed to stare out from the old but proud stone building. She didn't like thinking about being inside that place somewhere behind those blank staring eyes. And there was another fear pressing cold inside her heart.

"What if they take me back to him _this_ time too?"

"They won't do that," he declared confidently. "They _can't._ You're legally an adult now."

"Or what if they have a description of Dennis? Maybe they didn't say anything about it in the news to trap you or something."

"Oh, his mug would be plastered everywhere if anyone actually saw him. We're alright. As far as anyone knows, you just ran away. Don't you worry, sweetheart. They won't do anything to me."

"But what if they do? What if they know?"

"Then I don't know," he said, shrugging, "but we can't sit around worrying about all the little 'what ifs.' Not if we wanna get past all this."

A spot opened up, and Barry quickly pulled the car in to parallel park without bothering to use his turn signal. Casey thought to herself how Dennis would have taken his time and paid attention to every detail. Maybe he'd have thrown his hand over the back of her headrest like he did the other day to twist and look behind them as he expertly maneuvered the steering wheel.

"I know. I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"Well, I don't want anything to happen to _you_ either. _Or_ me!" he exclaimed. "But you think about what _you_ need to do for you. Now, if we turn around and leave, is that going to make you feel better in the long run?"

"I guess not. No."

"Okay," he said, shutting off the car engine. "Then let's do what we gotta do. And listen, baby girl, the sooner you let go of what's dragging you down, the sooner your hands will be ready and open for whatever comes next. Remember that."

Casey started to open her door but hesitated. "Can I sit here a little longer with you?"

"You bet." He paused, thinking for a moment. "You want me to be quiet?"

She gave him a half-smile and sheepishly nodded. He always seemed to know what she needed. Maybe their bond was as deep as it felt, because she knew how worried he really was, even though he played it off for her sake. Barry had such a good heart. She was beginning to think that nearly all of Kevin's alters were good in their own ways. 

Although Hedwig was mischievous at times, he was open and trusting and so hungry for affection and attention. Perhaps he was the little boy that Kevin never really got to be. That was one of the things she and Kevin had in common: a stolen childhood.

She didn't know Orwell well enough to say for sure, but Casey liked how glad he was to share a tiny fraction of the knowledge he had accumulated over the years, and she felt safe around him too.

Even Patricia had been good in her own way once, or so Barry said. Patricia's journal confirmed that in some measure before things started spiraling downward. Casey couldn't find it within herself to forgive or justify what that alter had done, but at the same time, she felt unable to lay blame on everyone else for Patricia's actions. 

Casey wanted to learn more about DID so she could better understand him, but in the meantime, she filled in the blanks by imagining that each alter, including Patricia, was part of a collective making up the whole of who Kevin really was. He certainly wasn't the monstrous outcast that Dennis seemed to view himself as. In fact, Casey felt that parts of Kevin were more kind, funny, and thoughtful than most people in the world. What mattered in the end, after all, was that the best side of him won out over the worst. He had chosen to be good. He had chosen to save her life. 

She glanced back over at Barry, who had turned his attention to some app on his phone. His chin and cheeks were clean-shaven again, and she guessed that was Dennis's handiwork, since Barry seemed to prefer keeping a slight morning shadow. He also liked wearing lighter, more fashionable clothes than Dennis, and today's outfit was no exception. He wore a white deep v-neck t-shirt that showed off his muscular upper body along with tight-fitting camo pants. A few layers of different lengths of silver necklaces laid near the exposed skin of his chest, and his left wrist donned a stylish but simple brown leather cuff.

Casey blushed when she realized she was staring at the way the muscles in his arm dimpled and flexed when he moved to unbuckle his seatbelt and adjust his gray beanie.

Dennis, of course, would have been wearing long sleeves to cover his arms and the few scattered scars there, just like Casey, despite the heat of the day. He'd have one of his black shirts on, pressed crisp and buttoned to the collar. Her eyes flitted over the exposed skin of Barry's throat where that shirt collar would be, and her cheeks went hot. She took in a deep breath to disperse the sudden weight that came with the strange feeling inside her gut. It was something close to what she had learned to associate with guilt. She knew Dennis wouldn't want anyone looking so closely at the parts of himself that he preferred to keep hidden.

With that in mind, she forced herself to look away to the right past the exterior concrete wall of the police headquarters and up to the ominous presence of the station itself. The fear she managed to chase away only moments ago began to creep back in her heart. She knew what to expect. There would be the usual careless men in uniform asking too many prying questions she wouldn't feel like answering, but if she was lucky, they might try to get her out of the way fast so they could deal with more important cases than a runaway who'd returned. Still, the fear remained. The possibility of being forced to go back to her uncle's house in the back of a patrol car, like last time, was terrifying to consider.

When she turned back to face Barry, he turned toward her at the exact same time, and they both grinned. She thought to herself how much she liked his smile and how it made the delicate skin at the outer corners of his brilliant eyes wrinkle.

"You ready?"

"I'm ready."

As they both got out of the car, an unexpectedly cool breeze from the east wafted its way down the street over them, and they both stopped where they stood to revel in the brief respite from the heat. In the far-off distance, they heard the sound of the Independence Parade, a chorus of brass and the rhythmic drumming of a marching band playing some patriotic anthem, followed by a wave of cheers, and she tried to focus on that instead of the sick feeling that kept tugging at her to stay with Barry, to forget all this and just leave.

But she knew she ought to face it and get it over with. The law, after all, was on her side, Barry assured her. And maybe he was right about that. Maybe he was also right that it was no coincidence that the day she had chosen to go to the police was Independence Day. It was time for her to declare her own freedom. 

Without overthinking it, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a spontaneous hug, which he gladly accepted. She took in a subtle breath of his clean peppery cologne to calm her, but when they parted, she was trembling.

It took Barry no time to make up his mind when he saw how scared she really was. "I'm gonna go with you."

"You shouldn't," she protested. "I don't want to pull you into all this."

"I think Patricia pulled us both into this already, whether we like it or not. You know I can sweet-talk them for you."

"I don't doubt it," she said, trying to smile again so he wouldn't worry. "But I think I need to do this alone."

After a beat, he relented. "It's your call. Oh, and speaking of calls..." He pulled out another iPhone from his pocket and gently placed it in her hand. "Here. This is yours now."

Casey looked down at it in surprise.

"It's not brand new or anything. Just our last phone before we upgraded."

"Barry," she murmured. "Thank you."

"Well, I'd love to take credit, but it was all Dennis's idea. He took care of all of it." When he saw her eyes widen, he clarified, "Don't worry! He didn't do it to make you feel like you owe us or something. He said it's to pay you back, you know? He said he broke yours, so he wants to replace it. But...I think partly it's because he doesn't want you to do all this without having a way to get in touch with us. You know how I told you your safety is priority number one with that man."

"If he wants to make sure I'm safe, why didn't he bring me himself?" she asked.

"Well, don't you _want_ me here?" Barry seemed hurt.

"You know I do. It's just...I guess I don't understand him."

"Oh, who  _does_?" he quipped. "Just take it. I'm in your contacts already. Under Kevin's name, just to keep it simple."

She didn't bother to mention that she already had that torn piece of paper with his phone number in the pocket of her pants. Just in case.

"When you're done, I'll be right here." He pointed to the ground. "Promise."

Nearly half an hour later, Casey began to regret her decision to leave Barry behind. After a stern-faced older police officer signed her in and took down some basic information, she had to wait in a receiving area with a small group of other people. A gaunt man who sat on the opposite wall kept his piercing beady eyes on her almost the whole time, which kept her nerves on edge. When someone's baby began to scream, she felt like she was close to losing it.

Finally, she was directed back to an interview room to wait alone. It was sparsely furnished with only a black table, a few chairs, and a couple of cameras in two corners of the high tiled ceiling. There she sat, nervously fidgeting with her bracelets for what felt like another half-hour until she heard the door open to her right and looked up to see two police officers entering the room. One was in full uniform; the other, the one who addressed her first, wore pressed navy blue pants and a cream-colored button-up shirt with a badge pinned at the left pocket. 

"Casey Cooke?"

"Yeah."

"Good to see you're safe," the woman said as she leaned over the table to shake her hand. "I'm Detective Anise Briggs." She sat down and reviewed what Casey assumed was her file on an electronic tablet.

The round-faced blond police officer in uniform introduced himself as Officer Hanson before taking a seat beside the detective.

"Am I in trouble?" Casey asked warily.

"No," the detective replied, and her brown eyes spoke reassurance. "Not as far as I'm aware, anyway. You did the right thing by coming in today, Casey. I'll try not to take too much of your time, but we need go over a few things. I'd like to clear up exactly what happened on the night of your disappearance." 

Casey began with the same story that she had concocted with Barry, and although her conscience bothered her, she was amazed at how believable she sounded. She said she had gone to Claire's birthday party at the restaurant with a plan already made to run away.

When Briggs asked who assaulted Claire's father, Casey claimed that he was a complete stranger. She said she never saw where he came from and that it was too dark to see much of his appearance. Still, when she gave a description of the man, she made it entirely different than what Dennis looked like.

"Didn't Marcia or Claire see him?" she stopped to ask. "Or did they see me...running away?"

"From their statements, no," Detective Briggs answered her. "I don't think they even knew what happened until Mr. Benoit came to, which was maybe only a few minutes after it all happened."

Casey wasn't actually that surprised about the girls not witnessing anything. The open trunk blocked their view out the back window of the car, but those two were even more oblivious than usual that night. 

"Mr. Benoit was the first to report you missing. He thought you were kidnapped." Her tone was kind and not accusatory at all, but the questions were far from over. "Why didn't you call to report what happened?"

Casey froze. Anyone else would've called. She would've if the story she gave the officers was actually true.

"I figured the girls would," she said. "Or anyone else who saw what happened. And I lost my phone anyway. I tripped when I was running, and it fell out somewhere."

"That how you hurt your hand?" Hanson interjected to ask.

"Yeah," she replied. "I cut it when I fell."

"The responding officers that night found a phone in the parking lot. Your guardian verified it to be yours, but I'd like to hear it directly from you. Had a black plastic case with a painted bird on it. Got bashed up pretty good." Briggs held up her tablet to show Casey the pictures of the phone. It was totally destroyed. The screen had been shattered down to its innards.

"Yeah, it's mine," Casey affirmed.

"Looks almost as if it could have been destroyed on purpose," Briggs said, pointing at the screen as she zoomed in. "We can't say for sure, but...see those indentations there? Almost like a shoe heel."

 _Dennis's shoes._ Casey's underarms were feeling wet. "If you say so."

"You didn't do it yourself?"

"No!" She heard her voice go shrill, and she took a breath to calm herself. "It's not like I have tons of money to go around buying new phones. Plus I hand-painted that case myself. There's no way I would've done that on purpose." The officers looked convinced. "I remember hearing it hit the ground when I fell. That's all I know. It was dark, and I figured that guy was still out there somewhere. I wasn't going to stick around and try to look for it! I told you what happened. I don't have anything else to tell you that can help. Really."

"Look, I'm just trying to figure out everything that went on, and above all else, I want to make sure of your safety. Okay?" Briggs paused, waiting for a reply, but Casey fell silent. "Can you help me out here so we can finish this up and call it a day?"

Casey nodded but still said nothing.

"So," Briggs said, "let's break it down. You planned on running away, and you decided the party might be the right time. Now, your uncle told us that he dropped you off at the restaurant around 6 p.m. for this and planned to be back by 9 or so to pick you up. Is that right?"

She nodded again.

"He didn't make it in time because of some car trouble."

 _Car trouble,_ she thought to herself.  _Just his way of saying he was too drunk to even pick up the keys to his truck._

"So something's not adding up. You planned to run away, but you knew to expect your uncle at 9 p.m. And yet you stayed later at the party than almost everyone else there until half past 9 p.m."

Casey shook her head nonchalantly as if what the detective was saying was no big deal. "I almost changed my mind about leaving, I guess," she lied. "I thought if he cared enough to show up on time for once that maybe I'd stick around a little longer. But he didn't. So I left."

"Okay," Briggs said and moved on. "Now, Mr. Benoit said that he offered you a ride home, but you didn't accept. He said you saw your uncle in the parking lot. Was he really there?"

 _Damn it._  "No. And they're _not_ my friends," she retorted a little more sharply than she meant to. "They're just girls from school."

"Why did you tell them he was there?"

"Because I didn't want a ride home with them, alright? But they didn't want to leave without making sure I had a safe way to get home." She sighed. "He was just being nice. But Claire and Marcia aren't really...well, they're not really people I like to be around, if i can help it. They didn't even stop staring at their phones long enough to acknowledge I was alive. I was just done. I was ready to leave."

"Alright, I get it," Briggs said. "Not kids you want to spend a lot of time with. Now, before you left, you helped Mr. Benoit with some bags, is that right?"

"Yeah, leftovers. And Claire's cake." That tiered, over-decorated cake that had been big enough for a wedding. Casey preferred the modest but beautiful cupcake that Barry brought her yesterday for her own birthday.

"So he was busy loading all this stuff into the trunk when you saw a man...tall, gray beard, medium build...appear from behind one of the cars in the lot. He didn't bother you or the other two girls, and he went right for Mr. Benoit."

"Right. That's when I got scared and ran." Casey's hand went inside her pocket, where she held the phone Dennis had given her. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but...are we done now?"

Briggs ignored what she said and instead cut to the point. "Casey, were you in any way forced or coerced to leave with that man or someone else?"

"No." Had her response been too quick? Too ready? Maybe there was some kind of video surveillance in the parking lot. Maybe they knew about Dennis all along, just as she feared.

"You weren't taken against your will?"

Briggs was nearing the truth, but it only made Casey indignant and more ready to leave. Her attitude began to show. "I said no."

The detective remained unfazed. She'd dealt with far worse than a stubborn but harmless teenager. "And did anyone else know of your plans or your whereabouts?"

"No."

"You're sure? No family or friends know where you've been hiding?"

"There's no way."

If John had even an inkling of an idea of what had happened to her, there would have been hell to pay. Even if he wasn't always good to Casey, he was protective, even possessive. That was love in its own sort of way, wasn't it?

Something about that last argument Dennis and Patricia had when they battled over Casey's life popped into her mind...the words that had been lost within a frantic moment.

" _You hurt me, and then you call it love."_

_"I've always been here for you. No one else could ever love you, knowing what you are and what's been done to you."_

"Alright," Briggs said, interrupting her thoughts. "Then I guess the next big question here is...where have you been all this time?"

"I'm safe. I'm alive. Is where I've been really that important?," Casey asked. She hadn't thought of any good options for an alibi. A hotel, a cabin somewhere outside of town...all of that might easily be refuted by someone else if the cops decided to investigate.

"It might be," Hanson said, "if you're protecting someone." His pink fingers tightened around the closed tablet in his hands. He wasn't as patient as his superior officer.

"I'm not protecting anyone!" She didn't want to point a finger at Barry and the other alters if harboring a runaway was a criminal offense, even if it made no logical sense to defend the man who abducted her. "I just ran off on my own, and I found a place to hide until today, and that's all there is to it."

"Then why all the secrecy?" Hanson pressed. "You knew your family was worried sick. _And_ youwasted our time and resources."

"I don't know," she muttered, growing angrier at herself, the situation, the police, John, and even Dennis in a way.

Briggs spoke again. "Why would you _want_ to run away? At least tell me that."

"My uncle and I haven't really been getting along. We just don't see eye to eye on things," answered Casey. "It's no big deal."

"Just a big enough deal to warrant running away from home, huh? What kind of things?"

She knew she had the power to expose John now. She could reveal her scars and finally speak out about what he had done to her over the years. Maybe it would be a relief. Maybe it would feel good to tell authorities. But she doubted it. Something about exposing her most intimate and painful secrets to the police didn't feel right, even though she had opened up almost immediately with Dennis about it. Nothing felt good about the idea of bearing her soul and then having to deal with even more prying questions. Maybe even lawyers, a trial. John would go behind bars for years. Or maybe he could wriggle his way out of it somehow, even after she tore open old wounds for it all. He deserved prison, no doubt. Maybe worse. What would be justice? All she knew is that she wanted her life to be her own now. 

"He's strict. We butt heads on stuff," she said. "I'm just ready to be on my own for a change." 

"You've been ready for a while, huh? This wasn't your first attempt to run away from home." Briggs looked up from the tablet and directly into her eyes.

"Yeah." In reality, she had run away a few times more than what the cops had on record, but John always found her first. Only once before had he been forced to turn to the police for help in tracking her down.

"Your uncle reported you missing last year on October 29th, and you were caught when your train stopped at the Amtrak station in Trenton, New Jersey." 

"Yeah," Casey repeated. She still remembered almost every detail of that last escape attempt. She clung to the memory like a life preserver from the traumatic punishment that followed for weeks after she'd been brought back home by the police. The independence she had for over twenty-four hours, all on her own... _that_ was what mattered.Â 

All of it was still so vivid in her mind, even while she sat there in that bleak gray interview room with the two officers. She recalled the sound that her tattered old rolling suitcase's tiny plastic wheels made, scratching and scrabbling along the sidewalk, and how that sound was soon drowned out by the car horns and the din of city traffic. She wasn't frightened by all the people though; something about it made her feel relieved to be just another face in the crowd. She even remembered how the sky was a nostalgic lace-blue that day and how the air was a mixture of passing scents: car exhaust, perfume on a passing stranger, and the savory scent of food carts as she passed them by...falafel, gyros, and greasy cheesesteaks. Above it all, she remembered how it felt when her pumping, raw adrenaline slowed like syrup into near ecstasy when the train left the station and picked up speed, flying northeast out of the city and over the countryside. That was when she began to believe she might really, finally be out of John's reach. It was only a memory, but it served as her constant reminder that she had truly been free at least once in her life.

"Care to talk about that?"

"Same thing I told you before. Anyway, doesn't _everyone_ run away at some point?"

"Not everyone."

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore. I'm eighteen now." 

"Right. So, do you have arrangements for a safe place to live? Somewhere  _not_ outside on the streets?"

"Yeah. I have a friend," she replied, "And I can probably live with him until I have enough saved up to move somewhere on my own."

A few brief raps on the door interrupted their conversation, and Hanson got up to answer it. He stood outside the cracked door with another officer, talking quietly, and she wondered what they were saying.

After a moment, Briggs asked, "Have you been staying with this friend until now?"

"No, he doesn't know anything about where I've been. I got in touch with him this morning and let him know I'm okay. He's picking me up from here, actually. Anyway, I told you, when I ran, I found a place to stay on my own. I'm not a little kid. Nobody helped me get away."

"Is this boy a friend from school?"

"Does that matter? He had nothing to do with any of this." Her patience was wearing thin. She wanted to be done with all this so she could get back to Barry.

"Alright, Casey," Briggs said, rubbing the back of her neck and trying to conceal her frustration. "I don't think we're gonna get much farther here. But listen, if you ever remember any other details about the man you saw that night, or if you decide you want to talk more, call me." She pulled her card out from within a slim wallet in her back pocket and skimmed it across the tabletop.

"Okay," she said, catching the card under her palm before it slid off the table. "There's nothing else to say, but thanks."

Hanson quietly opened the door again and came back inside. "He's here," he announced.

"Perfect timing," Briggs said. She seemed pleased. "We can get this wrapped up now."

Almost immediately, Casey's limbs went cold, and she felt dizzy as she tried to form her next words. "Who's here?"

She knew before she got her answer. "Your uncle, John Cooke."

"You called him?"

"It's standard procedure. He's your legal guardian.

" _Was._ He  _was_ my guardian. Not anymore."

"He's still your only known living relative nearby, and he's the best point of contact. This is just the easiest way to verify your identity so we can close this case up officially."

"Why didn't you ask me?" She wanted to sound more demanding, but her will had gone weak. Even the mention of John took away some of her strength.

"He was notified as soon as you checked in. That's out of my hands."

Casey's ears were ringing, and her reddened bow lips were partially open in shock as she tried to process it all. John was here...in this building...right now. 

Hanson either didn't notice how scared she was or didn't care, but Briggs saw. "If there is any cause for concern about him being here, you need to be open with me and let me know right now."

She took a breath and swallowed. "It's fine. I'm fine," she lied. "I just thought since I'm an adult now..."

"You are. But we still have to do our job, which ends up with a lot more paperwork than you see in the movies. Look, I want to make this easy on you. I do. But we've got to have some kind of official verification to close this case properly, and you don't have any photo ID with you." 

"My picture's been all over the news!" Casey spouted. "You know it's me!"

"Casey..."

"You can't keep me here just because you need to fill out some paperwork." She wasn't actually sure if that was true. Barry had said they weren't able to hold her, but he might have been wrong.

Then the door opened, and her heart stopped. There he was.

"Casey?" Uncle John stared at her almost as if he didn't believe it was really her. "Casey-Bear." His voice wavered, and it shook her...that melodic huskiness that often haunted her dreams and tingled in an unwanted way over her skin. "It's really you."

In two long strides, he covered the distance between them, then he pulled her close against his wide trunk and wrapped his thick arms around her in a tight embrace. His scent was so different from Barry or Dennis, all at once repulsive yet comforting in its familiarity. His presence grounded her back in reality somehow, like everything between the night she'd been taken until now had been only an escapist fantasy.

"Where've you been? Are you okay? Not hurt or anything?" He looked her over almost desperately, and she realized he was actually worried about her. He actually loved her.

"I'm okay, I promise." Her tone of voice was higher and more girlish around him. With John here, she was just a kid again. She knew not to talk back or do anything that might make him angry with her. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"You're alive," he whispered. "That's enough. That's enough." He held her close again, and Casey gave in to hug him back. _This_ version of her uncle was the one she still loved.

The police allowed them adequate time for what they probably all saw as a joyful reunion. When John finally loosened his grip, she stepped back, desperate to rid herself of the doubts that suddenly cropped up about leaving him for good and staying instead with someone who, in all reality, was a stranger who had taken her. He was the cause of all this, and that doubt warred with her other feelings of wanting to be back with him...with Barry and Dennis and... 

"Christ," John muttered. "I've been worried sick about you! I barely slept a wink."

"I'm sorry," she said. It was only a half-lie. In a way, she  _was_ sorry, but she also knew it wasn't her fault. Not really. And she would never be sorry for the last few days which had also been some of the happiest she had known in years.

"I haven't even been to work a day since you've been gone," he continued. "If anything happened to you...if you'd turned up dead, I think I would've died too."

"I didn't think you cared so...I...I'm sorry." She was so confused. She wanted to believe him so badly, and the little girl inside her wanted the warmth of his hug again. It took everything inside her to resist it. "I'm just...this is all just...sorry. This is a lot for me to process right now."

"Why don't we all take a seat? Then we can calm down and try to get through this," Detective Briggs suggested.

The four of them all sat at the table, and as the rest of the adults began to talk, Casey tuned them out and lightly traced over the still-tender cut on her palm with a fingertip. It was healing, but the scar would always remain. She was glad to have that scar though; even if she got so old someday that she forgot what happened, her skin would never forget.

Detective Briggs recounted some of what Casey had said, enough reassure him of her safety and her willingness to come in on her own today.

Only Casey would be able to recognize the warning fire inside his forest green eyes when he realized she had run away from him again. She moved a hand down inside the waist pocket of her military jacket and pressed her fingers against the cool glass screen of the phone she had tucked there, as if to reconnect in some way with the one who had given it to her. She wanted that connection to ground her and reassure her. She wanted to text him without the officers or her uncle taking notice. She wanted to have the bravery to get the hell up and walk out of that room. No, not walk. Run. And never look back. So why were her feet planted so firmly to the ground now...?

"All this time," he mumbled out, "All this time, you were safe, but you didn't even want to call to let me know you weren't lying dead in a ditch somewhere?"

Sensing the growing tension in the room, Briggs tried to move everything forward. "I know there's a lot of emotion and confusion right now, and that's completely normal in these situations. If you like, we can refer you to a family therapist to sort through everything..."

"We're fine," Casey interrupted. "Thank you though."

The detective looked at her again as if trying to read her. "Well then...Mr. Cooke, we'll just need a signature from you here," she said, scooting a sheet of paper toward him across the table. "Then Casey, once he's done, I'll show you where I need you to sign, and then we're done, okay?"

John leaned forward to sign the document, and as soon as he was distracted, Casey pulled out the new phone and keyed out a fast text to Barry underneath the table.  _"He's here."_

He would know exactly what she meant.

_"I'll coming right now. Hang tight."_

_"No,"_ she texted back. _"Just be out front in the car. I'll be there asap."_

When Casey took her turn in signing her name to her statement, she paused for a second and looked up into the detective's inquiring eyes. Whether she meant to or not, her fear was transmitted in a silent message. Perhaps only another woman could see it and understand.

"Will your friend be picking you up, Ms. Cooke?" she asked. "Or can I give you a ride to where you're staying?"

Casey appreciated that Anise Briggs wasn't treating her like a child, even though with John towering behind her, she certainly felt like one. 

"She's going back home with me," John answered without hesitation. "Right?"

 _Stand up for yourself. Say something,_ Casey commanded her tongue. "I was going to...I..."

"I fully understand your concern for her as your niece, but she  _is_ an adult now. She has the right decide for herself where she goes and what her future plans are." Briggs' words were succinct, and the seriousness in her tone made John take pause. "Casey, would you like me to take you where you need to go?"

"I think he's here already, actually."

"He?" John said darkly.

"Mr. Cooke, if you could just stay here with me, I have a few more questions for you before you go."

"Casey, who is _he_?"

"I've got to go. I'm sorry," she apologized again, using all the strength in her heart to pull away from him. "Detective Briggs, thank you." She addressed Uncle John again. "I promise I'll call soon, okay?"

Before he could react, she gave a halfhearted wave and stepped out of the room with a heavy sigh of relief once the door closed behind her. She heard John arguing with the officers as she walked down the hall and toward the front of the station. She tried not to run. After she signed out and left through the large glass front doors, she saw Barry sitting in his car, waiting only yards away.

He waved to her from the driver's seat, grinning wide as soon as he spotted her, and she waved back.

She was so close to freedom now, and she began to imagine the way it would feel when her fear and adrenaline gave way to bliss again. She wasn't on a train to New York this time though. She was walking toward Barry, and he was smiling at her, and something told her that this time, that feeling might actually last. This time, she would really be free of John.

She was almost to Barry's car when she heard her uncle yelling for her and those big hunting boots of his clomping up behind her.

"Casey, wait!"

She stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes tight. Barry was right there. He was waiting. John couldn't hurt her here. So why was she still obeying him?

"Mr. Cooke," Detective Briggs warned, following close at his heels with Hanson and two more officers. "Let's not make this situation more difficult than it has to be."

"I just want to talk to her! I'm not trying to be difficult! She's my niece, my brother's only kid. She's like my own daughter. I _get_  to talk to her." He wasn't backing down. "Casey. Please."

Was it weakness that made her almost immediately obey by turning to face him? Or was it just that she didn't want to cause any more of a scene?

"I'm sorry," she meekly told him. "I need to go now."

"Please," John said in his husky voice, and he held out his wide hands in surrender. They were the same hands that patted her back when she was sick and helped her up into his hunting tree-stand on cold winter mornings to watch for deer and popped the tabs on all her soda bottles for her. The same hands that hurt her, explored her, and owned her. "Please come talk to me." He was begging now. "Please don't leave me."

Barry didn't turn off the ignition, but he got out of the car and walked around. "Case, are you ready?" His voice quivered, and his face had gone pale at the sight of how big John was. 

" _That_ _'s_  your boyfriend?" John asked in a mocking way. He looked Barry up and down from top to bottom, and she could already guess what he was thinking about him.

"No, he's my friend. My _best_ friend."

"Oh, your _best_ friend," he repeated. That's when she saw it. It was written all over his broad bearded face. John was itching for a good fight, but he knew as well as she did that the police officers were watching his every move. "Come here. Just one more hug." 

Casey wondered what was going through Barry's mind when he saw her willingly step closer to John. The moment she was within arm's length, her uncle grabbed her and pulled her in close for another hug.

"Casey-Bear!"

She wondered how much of his act was real and how much of it was just a show for the police.

"My Casey!" he cried, clasping one wide paw around her head, entwining his thick fingers in her loose dark brown hair and holding her close. "Thank God for bringing my girl back to me! Thank God you're safe. That's all I want. I just want you to be safe." Just as she began to melt into his embrace, he pressed in close to her ear to whisper, and she stiffened in response to his words. "Now I don't give a damn who that man is to you, but if you care about him at all, you best plan on going home with me. Understand?" 

She didn't move or struggle or even make a sound. She knew better now.

"I'll help you pack your things," he said in his normal volume then, just to make sure everyone else heard. "I'll even find a way to get you to college if that's what you really want. Just please don't leave me yet...not when I just got you back." Then he pressed a kiss against her cheek, and his cologned whiskers stabbed at her soft skin while he sharply whispered in her ear again, "If you go with him, I'll find you. You know I can. I'll hunt you both down. You know what I'll do to him."

He didn't have to spell out his threat. She was well aware of what he could do, and even if he didn't aim to kill Barry, he wouldn't hesitate to seriously hurt him if he got in the way. Kevin's body might be physically fit, strong, and muscular, but John was twice as wide and nearly a foot taller, and he wasn't afraid to take cheap shots to win.

"Yes, sir," she whispered back.

"Now be a good girl," he commanded softly.

"I'll go with you."

"Louder for your boyfriend and the blue. Make 'em believe you mean it."

"I'm sorry," she told him aloud. "I won't leave you. I promise I won't."

"Casey?" When Barry called her name, he sounded more frightened than she'd ever heard him before. "Honey, let's go. This is your chance!"

"Who are you to tell my girl what to do?"

"I didn't mean to -"

"I don't know you," John said, "but I _do_ know you look old enough to know better than to mess around with a little girl who just now turned legal. Probably found her on her own somewhere and thought it was your lucky day, huh?"

Barry looked terrified of John, but he didn't back away. "Hey, that's not what I'm about, mister. I know you don't know me, but if that's what you think this is about, then you don't know Casey either."

"Don't push me, little man," John warned.

"It's okay," Casey spoke up, trying to clear the air before Barry got himself into any more trouble with John. "Just...go. Get in your car and go. I'll be okay. I promise. I can handle this myself."

"Casey!" He was shocked.

Briggs came down the steps to where John and Casey were standing. John's eyes narrowed, and he ignored the detective completely.

She hated herself for what she said next. "I'm fine. Everyone's worrying too much, and it's not a big deal. I was wrong to run away in the first place. This is all my fault for making everyone upset. Just let me go home with him, and it'll be fine." 

Briggs tried to communicate in a wordless look again, but this time, Casey didn't engage. She knew her uncle's threats were real. 

"You really mean it?" John asked with an innocent expression.

"Yeah. I want to go home. Let's go," she said, her tone empty and dull. She felt the life draining back out of her all over again when her uncle clapped his hand on her shoulder.

"Casey?" Barry cried out again behind her.

"It's okay," she said over her shoulder as she hopped up into the passenger side of John's lifted truck. "It's really okay. Please go."

"Casey..."

He was beginning to sound as hopeless as she felt inside.

"Thank you...for everything. I'm really so sorry. And please...please tell him I'm sorry too." Barry would know who she meant. She recalled Dennis's first words to her and made those her silent last words to him now as she looked at Barry's face, almost praying that Dennis might break through somehow.

_I'm sorry, but I have to do this._

She didn't want to go, but she would never forgive herself if something happened to Barry and the others because of her.

Over the sudden roar of the truck's engine as John turned the key in the ignition. He had his niece back, but more importantly, he had his power again.

It killed her to see the way Barry looked, to see those bright blue eyes welling with tears when the first drops of rain began coming down. The fat drops darkened the sidewalk in spreading splotches at Barry's feet where he stood, pale and shocked, his mouth agape.

Everything around Casey blurred, even Barry's repeated cries of her name began to sound unreal, as if from another lifetime. It all disappeared into the nothingness that her future had become with the choice to give in to her uncle's threats.

She told herself she was weak. Or perhaps it was a different kind of strength, a drive to protect, that compelled her to go with John and keep Barry out of harm's way.

John shifted his truck into drive, waved to the cops still standing on the front steps, and then went down the one-way street, heading toward the highway...taking her back.

She slumped in her seat with her eyes shut tight and tried to deaden the searing pain of separation until there would be nothing left inside her. Life had let her taste something good for a few short days, and it had cruelly taken it away again. The good was always taken away, she knew that. She learned that on the day her father died and on the morning she woke up to Scout's cold lifeless body beside her in bed. But somehow, this loss left her more hollow than before.

John's right hand snaked across the space between them in the cab of the pickup truck and squeezed her upper thigh as he drove, but she didn't flinch. This wasn't the worst of what was to come. 

"I'm sorry I had to get mean with you back there, Casey-Bear, but you know I only said those things 'cause I want to keep you safe. 'Cause I love you." Suddenly, he sounded angry and wounded at the same time. "I love you so much! You know that. You _know_ that!  _Why_ did you leave me? Why would you do that to me when you _know_ how much I love you?" He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, and Casey reflexively jerked.

_You hurt me, and you call it love._

Dennis's words echoed in her mind, and in an instant, she tried desperately to hold on to everything about him: his deep voice and unique accent, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the way he took care to feed her and dress her wounds, to carry her in his arms, the way he swept her hair away from her face so tenderly, his genuine smile that night with the music high and the car windows rolled down, the embarrassed and surprised blush at his hollow cheeks when she tucked the yellow flower in his pocket. She ached to at least have the picture of the waterfall at Wissahickon. She ached to be back there again...with him.

"Casey, why?!" John's cries interrupted her thoughts as he grew more desperate for an answer.

She replied with a forced smile, "I was being stupid. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

He breathed out a relieved sigh at her words. "You know I love you, baby."

"I know."

"And you love me too," he said firmly, clearly expecting her response.

"I love you too," she repeated, almost like a machine. 

That appeased him, and he squeezed her thigh again, then asked her to scoot over beside him, which she did obligingly. The more she could satisfy him now, perhaps the less he would hurt her later. She clung to the hope that he would go easier on her if she proved to him that she loved him and was really sorry.

He took her left hand and sandwiched it between his heavy hand and his leg. "I was worried you were dead...or worse. Baby, I thought someone took you."

"I didn't mean to make you worry.'

"Were you holed up with that man back there?"

"No," she replied. When she saw his disbelief, she said more seriously, "I swear!"

"Who is he?" he demanded.

"Just a friend. It's not his fault. He had nothing to do with this."

John's voice hinted at the darkness inside him. "Have you been getting yourself into trouble with boys, Casey June?"

"No! I promise. I swear to God."

"He didn't touch you?"

She shook her head no.

"You're still mine? Only mine?"

"I'm still yours." She felt sick to her stomach.

"God, I've been out of my mind," he strained out, and he roughly dragged a hand over the sweat frosting his temples. "Thinking all kinds of terrible things that could be happening to you." He almost sounded like he was about to cry. "Please...you can't...don't ever do this to me again."

"I won't," she told him, unsure of whether it was the truth or a lie. "It's just...sometimes I...I get scared when you..." They so rarely addressed the things he did that she was surprised at herself for saying so, but it made her feel a little braver. "Last time, you really hurt me."

"You just got me too riled up. It's not my fault," he swore.

"Okay," she replied without pushing the subject further. He would never change. But she was strong. She could take it. She could be as emotionally strong as Dennis too. And what would it matter now if he got so riled up one day he killed her? Maybe it would be a final mercy. 

His sun-tanned, thick-fingered hand tightened around hers. "You won't leave me again. Will you?"

"I won't," she said, and that's when she began to cry.

Instead of noticing her tears, he said, almost like a child, "Promise to make it better?"

On some level, it was clear that he really _had_ felt lost without her. Behind his large stature, his cruelty, and his threats, he was a sad, weak, terrible man, unable or simply unwilling to face his own demons and stop hurting the one person he had left in the world.

"I promise."

She surrendered to the overwhelming emptiness taking over her insides and buried her face at his shoulder. She breathed in and desperately wished it was Dennis beside her, that it was his clean, warm scent surrounding her now. The country music on the radio kept blaring, and her head started pounding. Her left hand was still under John's against his leg, but her right hand snuck into her jacket pocket to feel Dennis's phone. It was a silent lifeline that John could never know about.

She wondered how many texts Barry had sent or how many times he'd tried to call now. The worst possibility was that he had already given up, just as she had asked him to do.

With every mile that added to the distance between them as the truck picked up speed, she forced herself to accept that she would never see her only real friend again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: Detective Briggs is based on the cop at the end of "Split." I think she was perhaps the very first person that Casey may have confided in (in movie canon, anyway), so I wanted to pay some homage. Briggs is named after the actress who played her.
> 
> Also - I have zero knowledge about how police would actually handle a case like this, so let's just pretend that's how it would happen! :)
> 
> I know last time I posted this chapter, a couple of people were mad that Casey would choose to go back with her uncle. I can only say you have to be understanding of her situation. She's been abused. Her uncle has a certain amount of control over her that she doesn't even fully understand, as it sometimes happens in cases like this. She chooses to go with him, however dumb it may seem, because she doesn't want the one person she is close with to get hurt or killed. She has reason to believe her uncle's threats, and in my head, I think she thinks she can still get away from him on her own someday, but she also feels guilty for even thinking about leaving him, because he's not terrible to her all the time. That's how abusive relationships work sometimes. Anyway, I hope you guys understand and enjoyed this. Hang in there for the next chapter, new readers, it's kind of a ride!
> 
> Comments, kudos, and even fan art are more than welcome. Any kindness at all is welcome!!! Love to you all.- xoxo
> 
> Oh and P.S. this chapter title's lyrics comes from "Standing in the Doorway" by Bob Dylan.


	20. Back to the Old House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey left with Uncle John.
> 
> This is the aftermath of that decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: intense drama, violence, abuse.

Soundtrack to set the mood: "[Aside" by Ocoeur](https://youtu.be/3a6bIRnwoME)

 

Casey hid her face and leaned against John until they were far away from the police station. To stave off a potential flood of tears, she pretended that her uncle's arm, so comfortably draped around her back, was _his_ instead. But no amount of pretending could ease the searing pain of their separation.

"You really _did_ miss me, didn't you, baby?" John's throaty voice indicated he was pleased to see her like that, huddled against him, dependent upon him.

"Yes," she mumbled into the folds of his shirt.

John probably guessed she was sorry to have defied him and that she'd be ready to bend to his every demand. And to be fair, he was half-right. Casey would bend because she learned long ago that anything else only led to harsher punishment. And she was contrite but only because, for the first time in her life since her father passed, she had finally found a kindred spirit, beyond all odds, only to be forced to leave him behind.

Casey knew better than to ever hope, and yet she still lifted her head to check the rearview mirror for a red car following them as they sped down the paved street near her old school bus stop. Of course, no one was there. 

 _Why would there be?_ , she asked herself. After all, she wasn't worth the trouble. Even though they'd shared so much over the past week and a half, she couldn't blame Barry for staying behind and letting her go. 

Despite the incoherent noise of her anxious brain, she found some consolation knowing that at least Barry and the other alters were out of harm's way now.

Casey knew all too well what kind of danger came when anything got in the way of John Harris Cooke, Jr. Her uncle's particular brand of viciousness would only be magnified against Barry, an opponent he viewed as trying to steal away his "property."

Barry didn't deserve that. None of the alters did. _Maybe not even Patricia,_ she thought.

She kept trying to remind herself that she was strong enough to handle what was coming. When it happened, she knew she would do whatever she had to do. She wouldn't fight her uncle off. She would suffer it all as quietly and compliantly as possible. Then maybe he'd get his fill for a long while, leaving her alone to escape to her own bedroom. She doubted it though. He wouldn't let her have a single opportunity to run again for a long time. And now she would be plagued by a new weight on her heart. She and Dennis would be in the same city, alive but separated. Maybe forever.

She anticipated that after it was all over tonight, and her mind returned to her body, she would think of him just as she was doing now. With her vivid imagination, she conjured up the memory of the last time it had stormed days ago. She closed her eyes and tried to remember how safe it felt to be nestled in the man's bed, knowing he was there with her.

She didn't even have a picture of him, but she hoped she would always remember the peace on his face as his worry lines melted away while she sang to him. And those light brown lashes barely fluttering as he began to dream. The way his soft lips delicately parted and his fingers gently entwined in a lock of her hair.

She wondered where he was and what he was doing. Had Barry made it home yet? When the fireworks began across the river tonight, who would be in the light? Would it be Hedwig, and would he be scared of the noise? Or would he revel in the spectacle as she did once long ago as a little girl, dancing happily with her father under the fiery sky?

When Dennis came back to the light, she worried he might be glad to be rid of her. Perhaps without her in the way, making messes and causing trouble, all of Kevin's alters could return to some sense of normalcy, and maybe he'd feel better off. Or was it possible that he might miss her in the same unanticipated way that she found herself missing him?

"See how good it is to be back with me?" John said, interrupting her drifting thoughts. His happiness seemed genuine, and that only piled guilt on top of the multitude of conflicting feelings she had about her uncle. The most frightening aspect about him was his unpredictability. He could be fine for days, weeks, even months on good stretches, or he might explode without warning. Fear of when he would change from "good" Uncle John to "bad" kept her stomach tight and her nerves raw much of the time.

To anyone else, John probably seemed like a rough-around-the-edges but mostly harmless old teddy bear. That's what she thought too, but only for a few blissful years of the early childhood she could still remember. That was all before playing like animals together turned into a different kind of game out there in the woods one day.

"It's good to be back where you belong, isn't it?" he prompted her again, clearly waiting for her reply.

"Yes, sir."

He grinned, seemingly satisfied.

 _Does he really believe me?_ , she thought, O _r does he just like hearing it and pretending I mean it?_

Of course, it wasn't good to be back, not at all, but there _was_  some solace in the familiar sights after what felt like months away: her neighbors' houses, the sprawling cedar trees that lined the road, and the open pastures along the way with their summery blanket of white and yellow wildflowers. They were probably just common weeds, but Casey always thought they were beautiful.

Their house was one of the last turns on the left before the pavement ended and turned into dirt roads at a four-way stop. She knew they were back when she spotted the rusting metal mailbox that she painted for John a few Christmases ago with a scene of a large buck in an autumnal forest of fading orange and red. 

As they came down the sloping hill of the driveway, it became apparent that John hadn't bothered to mow the lawn while she was gone, and all the summer rain made the grass around their house shoot up twice as tall, growing nearly to the height of the porch.

When John parked under the wide carport, Casey attempted to keep up her pretense of being glad to be back. As soon as he opened the door and ordered her to get out of the truck, that attempt failed. She caved and began to weep.

"Nope. You don't get to act like that." John's smile disappeared, and he yanked at her arm until she loosened her grip on the seatbelt and slid reluctantly over to step down next to him. "This is your home." He poked her chest hard with a pointed finger. It was a harsh bullying gesture that pressed through her tender flesh against her bones. "This is where you belong."

She let out a wordless sob at the truth of his statement and doubled over with her hands pressed against her thighs. It was too much. All of it. Everything that happened to her since she had been abducted until now...it was all too much for anyone to bear.

"Stop it," he commanded. "You want people to hear you crying like a baby?"

She wasn't sure why he bothered acting like anyone would hear. Not even their nearest neighbor in the next lot a quarter-mile away had any idea of the goings-on at their house. No one ever heard. No one ever knew.

He grabbed her shoulder and forced her to stand up straight, and the expression on his face left her terrified and desperate for his forgiveness. She wanted him to tell her that it was all going to be okay, that he was just glad to have her safe and back home, but it would never be that easy.

"Please," Casey whimpered. She reached high and stood on her tiptoes to weave her fingers together around the back of his neck the way she knew he liked. "I love you."

He took pause at her unexpected affection. "You do?" 

He let her hug him as he patted her back, and she felt him comb his fingers through the ends of her long dark hair. Just as she began to believe she had placated him, he roughly twisted her mane around his fist until her head was forced to tilt back. She gasped but didn't try to break free from his hold when he got right up to her face to scrutinize her and sniff out the fear inside her.

"You're lying," he said then. "You don't love me one bit."

She barely nodded against the constraint of her hair's trapped mass in his meaty paw. "I do! I do love you!" 

Above her head, the rain fell against the carport roof, and some part of her mind escaped into the sound to survive.

"Then why'd you run? _Again_!" He pulled her hair to get some noise out of her. "You knew what would happen if you tried it one more time."

She didn't have an answer that would satisfy him. "I'm...I'm sorry."

"You're just sorry you got caught."

The first blow came as soon as the last word was out of his venomous mouth. It was a hard sharp clap to her left cheek, and the force of it turned her head. Even then, he didn't let go of her hair, which pulled painfully but kept her in place.

"I _am_ sorry! I came back because I missed you."

"You didn't miss me at all. You thought you could see the cops and get away without even letting me know you were still alive. You're a lying little bitch!" He hit her other cheek, and her world spun back into chaos. School was over, and he didn't have to care about leaving visible marks on her face anymore. He wasn't going to be easy on her. Not at all.

The rain kept pattering against the metal roof above their heads and gushed from the nearby drain spout at the corner of the house.

 _Listen,_ she told herself,  _Just listen. Imagine it's the waterfall._

"Admit what you did."

"I don't know what...what you want me to say."

"The truth!"

_Listen to the water. There's a slow breeze, and the sun's going down. You're far away from here at Wissahickon. You're wading in the stream. Dennis is there with you. He's watching over you from just a few yards away. He's not halfway across the city. He's right here with you..._

"I _know_  what you did. You don't even _have_  to lie," he said, pulling her closer with his hand still knotted in her hair. "You _fucked_ him." The way he said it, emphasizing that word so crudely, made her grimace. He took everything good and made it so dirty and shameful. "That guy back there. You did, didn't you?"

"I didn't!"

"Don't you lie to me!"

"I swear I didn't," she squeaked out. "He's not...it's not like that!"

"What else would a grown man want from you?"

"He's my friend! That's all." 

"Just a friend, huh?"

"I swear!"

He untangled his fist from her hair and stroked his thumb over her flushing cheek. His unwanted touch felt like fire against her stinging skin, and it made her want to recoil. It was nothing like the feeling Dennis gave her when he brushed his fingers over her face almost by accident when he tidied her hair. So gently...awkwardly...and yet perfectly.

"You know I don't like to be rough," he murmured, and he almost managed to sound sad. "But you bring this on yourself, don't you?"

It was useless to do anything but agree. "Yes, sir."

"You make me like this."

"Yes, sir."

"It's your fault when I have to get mean."

"I'm sorry," she sobbed.

"I just don't know why you can't be good."

"I want to be," she said automatically.

"Do you? Because it doesn't feel like that. Every time I start to trust you, you break another rule."

She felt herself growing more frantic when she sensed his temper rising higher. "Please, I really do want to be good! I - I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, you're gonna learn 'sorry.'"

With that, he backhanded her, and this time, the blow came so hard that she stumbled and fell to the driveway. The gravel stabbed at her skin where she landed, and she could taste blood coming from somewhere inside her mouth where his hand collided with her cheek.

"This is what has to happen," he reasoned, towering over her. "You have to learn! I do what I have to do to make you a better person, and you don't see it. You don't even appreciate it." He turned away from where she cowered on the ground and sighed. "Maybe I spoiled you too much. Shouldn't have trusted you for a minute, letting you go off to that party on your own." He turned back toward her with fury blazing in his eyes. "You ran off and let me think you were dead. That's how you repaid me after all I've sacrificed for you."

"I was wrong," she told him. "I was scared. I wasn't thinking right."

"Just like a woman," he scoffed. "You're getting to be more like your mama all the time. You know, her own parents didn't even want her. You were both trouble from the start."

Casey hid her true feelings when he said that. A negative reaction was exactly what he wanted to provoke from her, and she knew his retaliation would be fierce. Her mother had a good heart, and Casey knew that for sure. Cassandra had chosen love over everything else, even over her own inheritance. When her parents found out she was moving to Pennsylvania to marry some man she'd met in a bar, a roofer by day, singer and guitarist in a band by night, they disowned her. Neither Cassandra nor Jackson ever heard from them again. They didn't come to the wedding, and Casey knew there was no way they'd bothered to show up at the hospital to visit the pink, premature infant that somehow lived while her own mother hemorrhaged to death. They probably hated her for that. Or perhaps they just didn't care at all.

Either way, she was proud to be considered anything like her mom, who by all accounts had been beautiful, funny, smart, creative, and giving. _Just like a woman._

"It doesn't have to be like this," he said. Although she jerked back when he bent down toward her, he waited for her to take his hand and then helped her back to her feet. "Now, see? Aren't I good to you?"

"Yes, sir," she answered him.

"You remember what I told you about what happens to little girls who run away from home?"

She nodded, but she was already beginning to detach from everything around her, an almost involuntary reaction to the fear and pain.

"Is that what you want? You want to see how the world will treat you when you're all alone? You want -" He stopped cold and demanded sharply, "You look at me when I'm talking to you!"

He gripped her by her sore jaw and forced her face toward his, bringing her careening right back into reality.

"You want to know what life is like? I'll tell you. It's a fuckin' nightmare!" He was nearly screaming at her, spit flying. "You ought to be on your knees thanking God you have someone who wouldn't make you work a day in your life." His fingers dug in harder, and she squealed. "Don't you get it? Why can't you see I'm taking _care_ of you! Keeping you safe!"

_You hurt me and then you call it love..._

"You don't know anything," John continued, and he let go of her chin, pushing her away from him. His voice was suddenly tightly strung, almost emotional. "I treat you better than any man ever could. I treat you better than my daddy ever treated your grandma, that's for damn sure. You don't see it, 'cause you don't know the world like I do. I treat you like a queen."

With that statement, she saw something inside him that she never fully understood before. He, too, had been through things that scared and scarred him.

Uncle John never had anything good to say about his father on the rare occasions he was mentioned, and she remembered how uncomfortable her dad seemed when she asked him what her grandpa was like. She didn't know how she hadn't seen it before. It was entirely possible, even probable, that the grandfather she'd never known had been cruel to his wife and children before a heart attack struck him down in his late 40s. Maybe that abuse affected the boys differently, somehow hardening John but softening Jackson.

 _"We can't always see what's going on inside another person, Casey-Bear,"_ she remembered her dad saying to her long ago. " _You never know what they're going through, so you've got to be good to them when you can because that might be the only kindness they ever get."_

She understood what he meant now more than ever.

"Don't I?" he continued. "Even when money's tight, you want for nothing. What more do you want from me? Huh? What?" When she couldn't come up with an answer, he yelled, "What else do you want from me, god damn it?" 

His right fist shot out, and Casey flinched and expected pain. Instead, he intentionally punched to the side to intimidate her, hitting the toolbox mounted in his truck bed so hard that it rattled some of the tools inside. It had to hurt, but he seemed completely unfazed.

"I...I don't know!"

"'I don't know,'" he parroted back. "Oh, you know, alright. You think there's something that man can give you that I can't." He poked her again, prodding her chest, trying to get a rise out of her. He wanted more than her willing subservience. He wanted a reason to get even more violent. "You think he's a real nice guy, don't you?"

"I don't know." She was so anxious that she couldn't think of the right words to say. "He was nice to me."

"Yeah, and you know why? All men play nice at first, and they'll tell you all the pretty things you wanna hear. But they always want something in return," he said darkly. "Always."

He waited a beat for any response, but Casey could only shiver and stay silent. She knew where he was heading with this.

"That man wouldn't put up with your bullshit for nothing." Jealousy seeped into his voice like poison. "He was going to use you up and throw you away. Same as the rest of 'em would. You keep trying to run from me, and you don't even see that I'd _never_ throw you away! And I would  _always_ take you back!" He threw another punch at the toolbox. "Always!"

John fell quiet, rubbing his knuckles. The only sounds were the rain and occasional low rumbles of distant thunder.

When he spoke again, his words were measured and cruel. "You know he's probably forgotten you already. How long do you think it'll take before he finds someone better than you?"

She was struck dumb by that suggestion.

"Because trust me, there's plenty better out there," he continued. "Beautiful girls. Girls who  _really_ know how to treat a man. You're not good enough, and he knows it." His reproach stung bitterly. " _You_ know it."

Casey didn't even try to protest. She wanted to argue that Dennis wasn't like that, but John's words were effective, poisoning her mind with a new kind of doubt. John was winning already because she believed him about one thing at least: there really were plenty of better women than her. Dennis...why did she keep thinking of him first?...Dennis deserved better.

"He may act nice and talk smooth," he said, inching closer to her until she backed up against the truck, "but that's just to lure you in." He cupped his hand between her legs. Casey had to swallow and harden her jaw to stifle a grimace. "All he wants is this right here. That's all you're good for."

"No," she sobbed, turning her face to get away from the stench of his breath, the bite of his words.

"Yes! It's true, and deep down you know it." He waited, keeping his hand right where he left it just to keep her uncomfortable. "Say it."

"Say what?" Her question was a tear-soaked whisper.

"Just admit that's all you're good for. That that's all he really wanted from you."

She took a deep shuddering breath. "That's...all I'm good for."

"You know you're not the prettiest girl in the world. And you can't take care of a man's needs worth a damn, but don't I love you anyway?"

"Yes."

"I'm not unfair to you. You know that! I'm not like other men, and you _still_ treat me like shit! You still keep trying to run. You keep..."

She was quaking, terrified of what he might do next. Then he startled her by letting go and getting on his knees right in front of her, pleading.

"You really think I'm that bad? Is that why you wanna leave me?"

She hated to see him like this. She hated when he toyed with her emotions. "No!"

"I'm not bad?" He wrapped his arms around her waist and gazed up at her with empty seeking eyes.

"You're not. I'm sorry that I...I'm not...I'll try harder. I can be good."

"And you'll love me?"

"I do. I love you."

"Tell me again. Say it again."

"I love you."

"Again," he pressed, desperate to hear it.

"I love you." Her voice shook, and her tears fell like the rain.

She tried so hard, but his eyes turned cold. He was ready to feel powerful again, so he stood up to his full height to glare down at her. His intimidation always worked. Immediately, she felt as small and helpless as the little girl he lured away from her father's tent that day in the woods...the day absolutely everything changed.

"If you love me, you'll start acting right, Casey June. Do you understand me?"

She could barely get the words out. "Y-Yes, sir."

"Alright then," he said dismissively. "Get in there and wash that makeup off. I hope to God you haven't been walking all over the city looking like that." He tossed her his keys then shoved her toward the front door. "Just asking for it."

She went obediently down the sidewalk as quickly as she could manage. Although she was upset, it was easy to pick the house key out of the few others on the chain, an Eagles bottle-opener. As the key entered the lock, she recalled fumbling with the green carabiner that held all of Dennis's many keys, trying so desperately to escape the very place to which she now longed to return.

The moment she entered the house, she felt a bit like Dorothy leaving the colorful peculiarities of Oz behind her forever and stepping back into the bland gray reality of her old life. The air was stagnant, and even from the entryway, she could smell what he'd left for her to clean up in the kitchen. When she walked in, she saw dishes piled high in the sink and stacked all over the countertops. Even the worn coffee table in the living room was covered with greasy fast food sacks, unread mail, a splayed-open hunting magazine, and a couple of empty beer cans.

_Home, sweet home._

John stepped in behind her as she set the keys down on the table.

"See how this place goes to shit without you?" He chuckled as if nothing had happened, even though she was obviously shivering and in pain. Then he leaned down, swiped back the long curtain of her tangled hair, and planted a kiss at the side of her neck. " _I_ go to shit without you...Casey Bear..." he whispered in her ear.

She tried not to offend him by jerking away with disgust at his intimate gesture, but her body betrayed her, as it sometimes did in one way or another at his touch. She didn't acknowledge what she'd done and began walking away slowly, but he came at her fast and stopped her in the living room.

"What's that about? You don't even want me to touch you now? Is that it?"

Before she could reply, he hit her face so hard that she toppled back against the arm of the recliner and then dropped forward to the floor on her knees.

He crouched down beside her and sarcastically asked, "What's the problem?"

"I...I'm just tired," she breathed. "M-maybe a little nervous...after all that with the police." Her excuse was terrible.

"Well, that's your own damn fault for going to them first instead of coming home. Don't take your bitchy mood out on me."

He grabbed her upper arm and wrenched her back up on her wobbly legs. She could feel her nose slowly seeping blood, and her head was reeling. Defeated, she leaned against him.

"There you go," he spoke in a hushed tone, clutching her close in his thick arms. "You're home now, baby. That's all behind you. And it's not gonna happen again, is it?"

"No, sir." She flinched as his hand came near her face again, but then she felt his thumb and forefinger pluck lightly at her plump bottom lip and then trail down the bloody slope from her nose to her cupid's bow.

"I missed my little girl. Did she miss me?"

She nodded but not enough to shake his touch away. She wouldn't dare it. "Mm-hmm."

They stood like that for another moment, and then he wiped his fingers off by smearing her own blood onto the fabric of her new shirt, the one Barry bought for her.

"Go wash your face. Then maybe I'll give you a chance to show me how much you missed me."

Although she was faint and her balance precarious, she made it to the bathroom and leaned heavily against the vanity to catch her breath and prepare herself.

When she looked up into the mirror, the girl staring back at her was weary, hollow, and beaten down. Her hair was a long nest of tangles. Her makeup had been classic and simple earlier in the day, and Barry had even complimented it. Now it was a smeared mess around her reddened eyes. A thin slick of blood dried from her nostril to her lip, coated and coagulating where John had rubbed his fingers moments ago.

This reflection was a far cry different from the one she remembered on the day she went out for errands with Dennis. That day she felt almost as pretty as her mother. Now she could find nothing left of that beauty.

_You're not good enough._

Try as she might to stop the intrusive negative thoughts, the words John said, the ones that stung the most, repeated over and over, circling inside her mind as she leaned down to gingerly soap up her face and rinse with cool water from the faucet. 

_That's all you're good for._

John's shadow blocked out the light from the hall when he stepped in, taking up nearly the entirety of the bathroom doorway.

"Come on now."

She swallowed hard as she delicately dried off with the damp towel hanging on the shower curtain rod.

Just as they were heading toward his bedroom, they both heard the unmistakable sound of a car zooming down the length of the driveway. As it slid to a stop, a spray of gravel from beneath its tires pelted the house's peeling wood siding. 

John left Casey and stomped over to the wide front window to see who the intruder was. 

"Who the fuck...?" 

She heard the sound of a car door slamming, but barely registered it. She was growing resigned to her fate.

That's when the driver called out in a deep and familiar voice. A Godsend.

He shouted out a single word. Her name.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end! Next chapter will get posted this weekend. Love to you all!!


	21. I'm Only Bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle John won't let go easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for violence and weapons, etc.
> 
> i love you guys so much!! will try to respond to your comments asap, but i'm so excited that you're enjoying the story. xoxo

Casey knew without even seeing him. It was Dennis.

She was so overwhelmed, she couldn't make a sound. For a minute, she doubted her own senses. It couldn't be real. He couldn't really be here. How could he have possibly tracked her down?

But there he was, calling out her name again. He ran across the lawn toward the front door like he didn't have a fearful bone in his body.

All she knew was that she had been wrong to doubt him. She didn't know how he found her, but no matter what she had done to keep him out of John's way, he really hadn't given up on her.

Something deep, raw, and powerful took over her, and she willed her legs to work harder as she ran to get to him. 

She had believed they were miles apart, but there he was. They were separated only by the screen door.

"Casey," he breathed as soon as he saw her. Although his view was partially impeded by fat droplets of rain collecting on the lenses, he looked at her with a mixture of relief and concern. She knew he could see she was already worse for the wear.

John's reaction was quick, and as soon as he caught up with her, he shoved Casey roughly to the side. She staggered weakly into the wall, knocking a pair of mounted antlers off the hanger.

Dennis was incensed, and he slammed his hands against the door frame. "Don't you touch her!"

"If you know what's good for you, you'll get out of here now."

"Oh," Dennis said, turning his attention to the hulking man standing by Casey. "You think I'm scared of you." He wasn't being facetious; he seemed truly surprised. After all, he was the biggest of all the alters. Kevin's champion. Her champion.

"You should be." John kicked open the screen door, and Dennis stepped to the side to miss it. "Leave. Before I get angry."

When Dennis spoke again, he sounded bearish and low, "I'll leave, but not without her."

Casey believed it was true that he really wasn't frightened of anything. His usual anxious habits, like the way he ran his hand over his scalp, were completely absent as the men stared each other down and evaluated their prospective opponent.

"You're a hard-headed son of a bitch," John remarked with a smirk. "I could almost respect that if you weren't trying to take what's mine."

"She's not yours," he replied matter-of-factly.

Casey felt something inside herself unchained by hearing him say that aloud. It felt like hope.

John ran his tongue over his front teeth and exhaled a snorting sort of laugh, then he grinned and stretched. He was readying for a fight if it came to it, and all his cocky body language on top of his sheer bulk alone would've made any other man concede before it even began. "I'll tell you one more time, and if you don't do as I say, then we're gonna have a problem. Get in your little car," he said, pointing over to Barry's running car, where the windshield wipers were frantically slashing back and forth, "and don't come back. And if I see you anywhere near my girl again, I'll -"

"She's not yours," Dennis repeated. His chin jutted out in defiance, and his jugular pulsed hard at his neck.

"You better get the fuck out of here unless you feel like dying today. I mean what I say."

"So do I." Dennis didn't back away a single step as John advanced on him. "I'm not leaving without her."

John didn't bother with a response. He was ready for a good brawl. He shoved Dennis as hard as he could, and Casey shrieked to see him lose his footing and fall backwards into the tall wet grass of the front lawn. Almost immediately, he scrambled back up and planted his feet firmly on the ground. He wasn't going to back down, not even as the man twice his size hopped off the porch and stalked toward him.

"I know you want her," John taunted him. "I saw right through you back there at the station."

Dennis's rain-dappled skin reddened in his growing fury. When John's fist shot out, he ducked fast and threw a punch back in return. Unfortunately, it wasn't powerful enough.

John was only emboldened by the reaction he got, and he let out a smarmy chuckle, shoving Dennis again.

"Yeah, I knew it. I saw the way you looked at her. Must drive you crazy knowing you can't have her."

That was all the incentive Dennis needed. He put his entire body's strength into a forceful left-handed uppercut that caught John squarely on the jaw and knocked him back a few paces before he fell to the ground.

Casey couldn't believe what she was witnessing, and John was even more stunned by this fearless stranger and his incredible strength. It took him a minute to get back up, and although Casey expected Dennis to advance while John was down, he didn't. He seemed determined to fight fair, but she knew if he kept that up, he wouldn't win. Not when John was willing to do anything to come out on top.

Her uncle came at him with another hard punch, and the force flung Dennis's glasses into the gravel in front of the car. They circled one another, and then Dennis went for it with the same momentum that he put into the wall on the night he discovered Casey's scars. That blow sent John to his knees, and he looked as shocked as he was furious. He swore as he spat out a thin red shower of blood onto the blades of grass in front of him. Dennis stayed alert and waited for John to stand or surrender.

He didn't know him like Casey did. She knew her uncle would never give up.

Once again, hot-headed John was on his feet. Letting out an angry bellow, he charged Dennis like a bull and tackled him.

Casey clutched one of the posts on the porch to keep herself upright as she watched her uncle start to throw his fists wildly.

"Stop it!" she yelled. "Please! Let him go!"

The fight looked bad, but she knew she couldn't do a thing to help if she tried to get in the middle of it. She thought of calling Detective Briggs' number, but she put the phone back in her pocket when she saw Dennis's next plan of attack. He grabbed John solidly around his wide trunk and pulled him down on top of him. He worked fast to trap John's dominant right arm underneath his, and then did the same with one leg before rolling them both over on the wet grass like an alligator rolling its prey underwater. The next thing she knew, Dennis was crouching on top of John and raining down fast hits.

John finally got an arm free and knocked Dennis off of him. He managed to wriggle away from John's grasp, although the shoulder of his t-shirt tore at his fingers.

When John grabbed his ankle to pull him to the ground, Dennis reared back and kicked John squarely in the face with his free heel. John squalled and clutched his nose like it was broken, and Dennis retreated a safe distance away.

Then he called to her. "Casey."

Later, she wouldn't even remember what motions she took to get to his side, but she was suddenly right next to him.

She didn't touch him even though she wanted to hold on and never let go. What remained of Barry's white shirt was spattered with blood and soaked see-through from the rain, revealing the scars all over his back like dark constellations. His fists were up, and his feet solidly connected with the earth. He'd taken a lot of hits, but he still stood rigid and unyielding, and he kept a hawkish watch of her uncle as he spoke.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he panted. "But I can't leave you here with him."

Beyond all odds, her second chance was granted. Without even having to think, she answered, "Please don't leave me."

"Casey!" Her uncle's nose was bent and dripping blood into his rust-colored beard and mustache when he dropped his hands from his face. "You even try to leave, I swear to God, I'll burn it all. Everything I ever bought for you, everything from your daddy. I'll set fire to everything you ever cared about, and I'll make you watch," he spat cruelly.

He sounded more vicious than she could ever remember.

"Go get what you need," Dennis told her. "I can hold him off. Just be quick."

"No!" She knew her uncle's threats weren't empty. "We need to go now."

"Just do it," he told her again more firmly. "Trust me."

Without another word, she ran back inside the house, skidding on the linoleum floor in her wet boots as she scrambled to grab a few thick black garbage bags from one of the cabinet drawers. This was no time to carefully pack.

As she fled to her bedroom, she heard the fight picking back up: the thick meaty thud of muscle against muscle, the masculine grunts as they wrestled and punched one another. She tried to think fast, but there was no telling how much time she had before John grew tired of losing and pulled a cheap shot to really wound Dennis. She'd never be able to take her records. Even a small stack of albums from her parents' vinyl collection in her arms would be too heavy to carry easily with how weak she already felt.

Almost as frantically as she had searched the office on the day she tried to escape from her captor, she tore apart her own room, searching for anything irreplaceable, everything that mattered most. The shoebox full of her family's pictures and her old laptop were the first things to go in one of the sacks. Next were a few knickknacks and framed pictures from her dresser top. She emptied out the drawers of her wobbly nightstand to take her sketchbooks and pens, then she scooped out a few armfuls of clothes and underthings and grabbed her favorite jacket and beanie and a few of her dad's old shirts that she kept hanging in the closet, then she stuffed those into the other sack. That was all she could manage, and she didn't allow herself to look back at what she had to leave behind.

She returned to find Dennis still standing, thankfully, and John was on his back heaving. Sometime during the few minutes she was inside the house, he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him, a taste of his own medicine.

Going as fast as she could manage, she dragged both of the garbage bags down the porch steps and across the yard behind her, then did her best to get them into the backseat and floorboards of Barry's running car.

"Ready?" Dennis asked, and she nodded.

Unfortunately, that's when John resorted for reaching for his knife from where he kept it sheathed at his ankle. Then he got to his feet and moved toward them.

Without hesitation, Casey mustered all her remaining strength and stepped between the two men.

"You know better," her uncle snarled, brandishing the short but razor-sharp tactical blade.

Then she heard Dennis say something behind her and felt the warmth of his words tickle across the damp skin of her neck.

"Get in the car, and lock the doors." She knew he was protecting her, exactly as he had done before with Patricia, but she wasn't about to leave him on his own. Not this time. She was the reason he was here.

"Not without you!"

He didn't have time to say anything else. The two men, unevenly matched in size but formidable opponents in strength and technique, clashed for control of the knife.

Instantly, she knew what she had to do to put a stop to the fight. She raced to her uncle's pickup, threw open the door, and reached underneath the driver's seat for the gun John always kept there.

When she found it, she knew exactly how to work it. She checked to make sure it was loaded and then switched off the safety.

She whirled around just in time to see John swipe the knife at Dennis. It very nearly sliced into his belly, but he managed to pull away so it only skimmed the skin at his waist and cut through the tattered t-shirt to its bottom hem. Once again, Dennis retreated in time, and both men took the chance to rest for a few seconds.

"John," Casey yelled out. "John!"

He took no notice of his niece, but Dennis saw what she held in her trembling hands.

"Don't do this," he begged her between heavy ragged breaths. "Just get in the car."

John saw his moment while Dennis was distracted. He ran at him with the knife, but by some miracle, after a bit of grappling, Dennis managed to wrench the knife out of John's grip. The bloodied blade spun to a halt at the front sidewalk's edge.

Once again, they began rolling and punching, flattening down the grass and stirring up the earth into mud as they worked to find leverage with their feet on the wet lawn. They were obviously getting tired, but their intensity was still barbarous.

"Stop it! Stop!" John either didn't hear her or he didn't care, because he wasn't letting up.

Casey aimed the first warning shot right at the front window. As soon as the bullet penetrated, the old glass shattered. The sound of the gunshot was piercing and loud, but Casey knew if any neighbors down the road heard it, they'd think it was just a firecracker going off.

John, on the other hand, knew better. He actually looked frightened of her. She hadn't seen him like that since the last time she had the barrel of a shotgun pointed at him over a decade ago.

"Leave him alone," she heard herself say. She was really standing up to John. Something just snapped inside her when she saw him hurt Dennis. "Or I'll tell the police everything you've ever done to me."

"You don't mean that, Casey Bear," John answered, attempting to sound as soothing as he could between his heavy breaths. "Let's just calm down. Everything's okay. You don't need to do that. You know I love you."

She was done listening to his manipulations. "If you ever lay a hand on me again, I'll shoot you."

All it would take was the guts to do it and the right aim, a skill she certainly possessed, and he knew that.

Dennis was on his feet again, more concerned about her than himself. "Casey, please." He didn't like seeing her holding a gun. He didn't want her responsible for something she could never take back.

"I should've shot you that day," she said to John. He would know exactly what she meant. "I should've..." She wavered, then continued a little more loudly, although her voice kept breaking. "I loved you! I trusted you! Daddy trusted you!"

"I know you don't mean that." John kept inching closer. "Now put down the gun, Casey. I'm not asking again."

She was so incredibly tired of being told what to do. She let out a scratchy, wordless scream and directed the gun at the house. Then she squeezed the trigger twice more, as if to kill it and all the dark memories left inside.

One bullet penetrated the wood siding by the porch and blew part of the panel off, while the second busted through the small window of their bathroom. She thought of all the times she sat in that bathroom alone with the door locked, making fresh cuts into her thigh with a razor to relieve the unending pressure inside, or showering his touch off her with the hottest water possible, scrubbing her flesh raw.

A shock of lightning blazed high above, pulsing and separating into forks of light that streaked over the sky. Then almost poetically, a loud peal of thunder boomed, as if the storm itself was a conduit for all her rage and sorrow.

As the sound rumbled and faded back into silence, Dennis came running at John from behind, but her uncle had been expecting the move. He turned, grabbed Dennis up as if he weighed no more than a sack of dog food, then threw him hard to the ground on his back.

Casey wanted to run and help him. She didn't see that John had picked up the knife on his way toward her until she saw the handle of it held outward to her in a peaceful gesture with the blade between his wet fingers.

"Why are you acting like this to your only family? I'm trying to keep you safe. I'm taking care of you like Jackson would want. He wouldn't want you to do anything to hurt me. He wouldn't want you running off with some other man. We can work through this. We're all we've got left. You and me. It's us against the world, remember?"

She remembered. It was something he said on days when things were 'normal,' when he treated her well. But no matter what he said to her, she couldn't stop now.

She had to prove herself to him, although the fact that she had made it through everything he had ever done to her was proof enough of her strength. She had taken it all, and although at times, she wanted to give up and die, she was still alive. She was still able to find beauty in nature, in music, in creating.

And now, she knew she could still feel. In fact, because of the man fighting for her now, she was feeling things she never expected would be possible for her.

"I swear, if you put that gun down, I'll stop. I'll let him go, and I won't be mad at you."

"You're lying," she said boldly, turning his own words around on him.

"I never lie to you," he said. "I love you."

"You don't know what love is." She raised the gun again and pointed it at his chest.

"Casey, don't," Dennis rasped behind her. She looked back at Dennis. He was pale and exhausted, but he was standing again.

What happened next was a blur. John leapt forward before she had a chance to react, and he ripped the gun away from her and brought a knee to her gut that forced her into submission. He let her drop to her knees where she gasped for air like a wounded animal at his feet. Then with a single swift movement, he grasped both of her wrists together tight behind her back and twisted her around to face Dennis.

His grip was strong. Viciously strong. He could pop her shoulders from their sockets if he really wanted. After this rebellion, he would teach her lessons she would never forget.

When she felt the cold blade at her throat, the shock of it cut her desperate breath short. She pressed back and away from the knife, up against Uncle John's wide body.

Dennis was back on his knees too. He was saying something, maybe pleading with John, bargaining, but Casey couldn't hear anything but the sound of her own heart pounding inside her ears.

John cruelly laughed at whatever Dennis said. It made no difference. Then he yanked the collar of her shirt down over her shoulder, ripping the fabric, and brought the knife's edge to Casey's collarbone, where he torturously cut in and dragged the blade a few inches to separate the first layer of her thin flesh.

The sound that came out of her was shrill, weak, and helpless. Bright red blood welled from the cut before it mingled and thinned in the falling rain.

Dennis shuddered and dropped as if he couldn't stand the sight of it. Through her clenched eyes as she grimaced from the pain of the knife's quick work, she could see him writhing on the ground.

There was another bright flash of lightning, and Dennis sprang back up to his feet with a new vigor that neither of them had expected after such a long hard battle.

Time seemed to slow down somehow as the electric sky lit up the three figures on the lawn.

Dennis tore the remainder of the flimsy white shirt from his neck and twisted the fabric tight between his bloody hands like a rope. He was no longer squinting to see them from where he stood, feet away. His black irises had dilated so wide that they had almost completely taken over his eyes.

Was it the white stroke of lightning that made his veins appear translucent silvery blue?

"I've seen inside you," he roared at John.

"What the...?"

His burly chest expanded and deflated with every gravelly breath he took, and when he spoke again in almost a growl, Casey was no longer sure that he was still Dennis.

"You're one of the impure."

"Something's messed up in your head, boy," John mumbled out, obviously unsettled. He kept Casey pinned close to him, but he lost his grip on the knife in his haste to back away, and it fell to the ground at their scuffling feet. "You're crazy."

"The impure hurt...and maim...and burn...and slay...and cut the innocent," he continued, his voice as rough and sharp as metal dragging against metal. "They take, and they taint everything around them. That's what you chose to become. Impure. You deserve no place in this world."

"You take one step closer, and I'll shoot!" John warned.

"You think your gun can hurt me?" His laugh was an almost inhuman rumble emanating from somewhere deep inside his throat, like a lion.

With that, he jumped toward them, muscular arms outstretched.

Suddenly, a shot blasted from the gun clutched in John's hand.

Casey was overwhelmed with horror and screamed when Dennis's body was violently thrown backward by the force of the bullet hitting him. When he plummeted to the ground with a heavy thud, he didn't move again.

Everything went dead silent aside from the continuing rain and the high-pitched ringing in her ears.

"Dennis! Dennis!!" Her cries cracked and altered pitches as she hoarsely shrieked out his name, each time more frantic than the last.

He wasn't dead. He couldn't be.

She kept calling him, desperate to stir him, but John slapped her right across her mouth to shut her up. He let go of her, and she collapsed forward into the mud at the edge of the sidewalk, sobbing, mourning the six unique lives that had been taken in a single second.

"You killed him!"

"I warned him. You heard me." John sounded slightly dazed. "That bastard was asking for it. Anyone could see that was self-defense."

Casey wasn't sure if he was telling her or trying to convince himself. She didn't care. Nothing he said mattered anymore. She dug her fingers into the ground, trying to crawl to get to him. She imagined Kevin's sky blue eyes turning to the clouds overhead and going dull as Dennis, Barry, and all the other lives inside him died. She wanted to die right along with them.

Once John felt sure the man wasn't going to get up again from where he lay limp and motionless in the grass yards away from them, he flipped on the safety and pocketed the gun, then he knelt to sheath his knife in his boot. As he rose back up to stand, he took two steps to reach Casey in the yard and grabbed her by the waist. Even though she pulled away from his touch, he was able to pick her up and sling her over his shoulder, then he turned to carry her back inside the house.

Her vision was spotty, and the ground beneath her spun as blood rushed to her head. "You killed him," she wailed at his back. "You killed him!"

"You might as well have pulled that trigger yourself," John told her. "It's your fault. You remember that. This was your fault."

It was her fault. She knew he was right. She made the decision to come here. She made the decision to get out the gun. For that alone, she told herself she deserved every bit of what was coming to her.

"Dennis!" she cried out again, helpless, hopeless.

Even as they crossed the threshold of the house, even as John carried her back to his bedroom, Casey couldn't keep his name from her tongue. His was the loss that hurt most of all. She wanted to hold him until every last bit of warmth left his body. "Dennis..."

"Shut up," John snapped and threw her weak body down on the unmade bed. "He knew good and well what he had coming if he pushed me."

"Den-" He cut her off short with another slap that knocked her nearly senseless, and she stopped struggling. Everything was lost now.

The fatigue he should have felt after the fight didn't slow him one bit, nor did the shock of shooting a man in cold blood. Now adrenaline surged through his veins. The violence seemed to have only excited him, and he fumbled to loosen the button on his jeans as he knelt over Casey where she sprawled helplessly on the bed.

She whispered Dennis's name one more time between her sobs.

"He doesn't matter anymore! You're mine!"

Before she even knew what was happening, both of his hands flew to her throat.

"You're mine," he repeated, gritting his teeth, the veins in his forehead bulging. He pressed against her. He was ready to claim his property. "You're mine. Say it! You belong to me."

"Please," she managed to squeak out. _Not again._ He did this to her only once before. It happened the last time she ran away, after the police brought her back home from New Jersey. He had held on a little too tight, a little too long. The bruises he left on her neck were so bad, she stayed home from school for over a week. She would never forget how she had started crying as soon as she woke up, but not because of what had happened to her. She cried because she had woken up.

Now she pounded her small fists against him ineffectually then tried to grab on to his thick wrists to stop him. When he looked down at her and almost grinned, she wondered if he even saw her as human. Her reality was a nightmare she couldn't escape. He had won.

Then suddenly his hands left her throat before she lost consciousness, and she pulled in a loud scratchy gasp for air.

Through the haze of her tears, she saw John going purple in the face as a dirty white rope of fabric went around his thick neck. His assailant was strong enough to pull all two hundred and sixty pounds of him off of Casey. She was still desperately trying to focus and understand what was happening while she coughed and tried to soothe her tender throat.

It took her a minute to get back all her senses, and that's when she realized John was being choked by someone.

It was Dennis, his face hardened and serious. He was alive! She couldn't believe her own senses.

"You...son of a..." John tried hard to fight back and get his stubby fingers beneath the shirt to relieve the pressure on his throat, but Dennis didn't let him have a chance. He managed to drag her uncle right off the bed and into the floor on his knees.

Casey watched in shock as the man she swore she'd seen die right in front of her pull out a familiar-looking spray canister from his pocket.

"Cover your face," he told her through gritted teeth as he struggled to keep John down on his knees. She did as he asked with the collar of her shirt, and then Dennis sprayed the aerosolized contents of the canister right over John's mouth and nose. John was stubborn to the end, even as his limbs grew heavy and numb. Finally he dropped, unconscious. Now he was the one who would wake up sore and defeated tomorrow.

Dennis had saved her life again, and she was too dumbfounded to say anything at all as he came to her where she sat on the bed.

He didn't say anything either. Perhaps there was nothing that needed to be said.

Still, she couldn't fully register the fact that he was really there, alive, scooping her up in his weary arms, holding her to his chest as he carried her outside to the car. Then he set her carefully down in the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt for her.

The mess they made of the car's interior from the mud, grass stains, blood, and rainwater didn't even matter to Dennis now. He put the car in reverse and turned the car around in a perfect U before slamming it into drive. Then as quickly as he had come, they sped back up the driveway, down the avenue, past the wildflower-covered pastures, the neighbors' houses, the bus stop, and back onto the highway.

Casey didn't look back once, although Dennis checked more than a few times to make sure they weren't being followed.

"Should we go back to the police?" he asked her.

"No, I...no." It was all too much. Her energy was sapped, and she could barely talk anyway. "But you...you need to go to the hospital. He shot you. I saw..."

"I'm okay," he said, but he didn't sound so sure. "But maybe we should go for you..."

She wasn't sure he'd believe her if she told him the truth. John had given her injuries worse than the cut across her collarbone, and she'd never gotten any medical attention. That blade-work from today would eventually turn into one more scar to add to the collection...hopefully her last.

"No," she croaked back softly. "Please...just take me home." She didn't even realize it until after she'd said it. She called his house her 'home.'

He turned his attention back to the road, although he looked a bit dazed. Neither of them knew what else to say.

Casey reclined the passenger seat and quietly watched Dennis. He had apparently found his glasses in front of the car before they left. One of the lenses was marred by a long diagonal break. His knuckles, especially on his left hand, were busted and bloody, and she knew he must be in pain. She was just glad he was alive.

She wanted to know for certain that this wasn't a dream from which she would wake later, used and battered in her uncle's bed, but she didn't want to alarm him or touch him in a way that would make him uncomfortable.

Timidly, she reached across the console for him. He saw but didn't move to stop her as she lightly hooked her index finger in one of his belt loops. When it was clear he wasn't upset by her gesture and allowed it, she tucked a second finger there, and she held on like that for the entire car ride.

Now more than ever, she understood the comfort that Hedwig sought when he lightly held on to her hair as he fell asleep. It wasn't possessive or demanding. It was a simple act that reassured her of his presence, and perhaps it reassured him of hers too. Knowing he was near and having this connection gave her a sense of peace and quieted her mind. She focused on the rhythm of his breath. The realization that he hadn't died struck her hard all over again, and she began crying.

Dennis didn't say anything. He understood, and he let her cry, although he kept both hands on the wheel as always.

Casey heard the distant sounds of the evening's Independence Day celebration. A music concert had started back up after the unexpected heavy rain, but she didn't bother getting up to see what was going on outside. She stayed down until she felt the gentle slope that led into the zoo's parking garage. Only then did she lift her head and gaze over at Dennis with misty dark eyes as her tears finally slowed. He noticed, but he didn't let himself acknowledge her attention as he guided the car to park in Kevin's assigned spot.

After he turned off the engine, he slumped back in his seat. They had both survived something unbelievable, and it was obvious they both needed time to rest.

It didn't take long, however, before he was compelled to get out of the car. He was probably desperate to get cleaned up. He opened her door for her, and when she couldn't immediately stand, Dennis leaned down and offered to carry her again. "If you want me to," he added. The low vibration of his grunt as he helped her from the car was the most comforting sound she'd heard all day next to hearing her name in his mouth. She wanted to stay in his arms, but she knew he was probably feeling just as weak as she was, so she told him she would try to walk.

Haltingly, they started off toward the entryway, and he kept watch to make sure she was doing alright as they went along the route back to his house one floor below ground. She was glad no one else was around to see them in their condition as they made their way down the hall and the stairwell.

After Dennis let her pass by him while he held the door for her, she waited and then reached out for his hand. He looked as surprised as he was weary, and neither one of them moved or breathed for a few seconds. Just as she was about to give up and continue on, he reached back out to her, and their fingers laced together. He steeled his jaw and didn't let himself look over at her, but she felt sure that they both found some comfort in the connection.

"You're alive," she whispered, and even though he said nothing in return, he gently squeezed her hand to reassure her that yes, he was alive. They were both alive as well as terribly tired and dirty, and despite Dennis's compulsion to keep everything clean and orderly, he said nothing of it. His attention seemed taken up entirely with guiding them safely back to the place she thought she'd never see again.

They went down the hall and through the office into the bathroom, then he helped her sit down on the edge of the tub as he turned on the faucet.

She looked all over him for a bullet wound but found none. Had she only imagined it?

The rest of his injuries would need some time to heal, but she knew they would both be alright. One of his hands was stained with blood from a shallow knife wound, perhaps when he knocked the blade out of John's hand, and the area around his left eye was already darkening and swelling, but the cut at his side didn't look as bad as she expected.

She hated that he was hurt at all, but she guessed they'd left John in worse shape. Once he was awake, he'd be angry. Maybe he'd even feel afraid or lost without her there, but he'd be a fool to go to the police. After today, he knew she was done covering for him, and he'd risk facing serious consequences if he pushed his luck. She could have him put behind bars for years with all he'd done.

When Dennis got up to retrieve the towels from the shelf, she realized she would have to be alone for a while. Normally, that was fine...preferable, even. But this time, she didn't want him to go.

"You'll feel better once you're warm and cleaned up," he told her as she stood up next to him. "I'll go get your things from the car."

She felt unable to say anything else until he was at the door. "Don't leave me," she timidly said, barely able to whisper it with her throat still sore and bruised.

He stood with his back to her but he paused. "I'm not leaving," he assured her in his familiar accent. "I'll just get your things, and then I'll get cleaned up too."

"Just...don't go. Not yet." She reached out for him, and although he seemed conflicted, he accepted her hand in his again.

Then their eyes met, and the stress lines between his brows melted away. He swallowed hard. He couldn't seem to look away from her now that he'd allowed himself to do so.

He softly rubbed a thumb over the thin soft skin on the back of her hand. She tried to avert her eyes from his shirtless form, knowing he was probably uncomfortable without his usual dark clothes to cover himself, but the peculiar purplish ring around another blood-red bruise near the center of his chest caught her eye.

"Is that where it hit you? How...?" _How had it not gone through?_

Dennis startled from the spell they both seemed halfway under. He seemed increasingly nervous about the mess as well as the fact that he was still half-naked in front of her. The stress wrinkles returned, but he didn't appear as hard or gruff as he usually tried to present himself. "I have to go." He let go of her hand. "But I'm not leaving you. I'm just going to get cleaned up in the other bathroom. You need to do that too."

She relented and nodded.

"Just...keep everything neat...as neat as you can. Please. Towels and your dirty clothes go in that hamper there, and I'll...I'll make sure you have something clean and dry to wear when you're done."

With that, he walked out the door. He needed to accomplish what he felt driven to do, and Casey wouldn't dare stop him from his task, even though all she wanted was for him to stay with her.

She slipped into the tub, careful to keep the cut near her collarbone out of the water, and sighed, knowing there was not much else she could do but soak her sore muscles and wash up. She had already cried until there were no tears left, and now, she wasn't exactly numb, just in some level of shock. She had no bearings to be able to fully take in all that had happened yet. She only knew she didn't like being without him anymore.

When she heard him come back to the office and open the wardrobe to seek out some clothes to wear, she found herself slightly smiling, despite her swollen lip and sore cheeks. She thought she had lost him when that gunshot rang out. She had mourned for him...for all of them. She knew deep down that something had irrevocably shifted for her in that moment.

Now she was beginning to see what he really meant to her.

Now she was home.


	22. I Don't Have Much in My Life (But Take It, It's Yours)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at home with Dennis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Chapter title comes from "Unloveable" by the Smiths (I prefer the Single B-Side version - find it on YouTube or Spotify - the lyrics are perfect for this too.)
> 
> I probably took more time and stressed over this more than any other chapter before, and it's not even the most important one!! But I figure I'll never move on to finish the other chapters I've been working on if I don't just bite the bullet and post this monster. So here you go! I'm still not happy with the dialogue and some wording here and there, but I'm starting to feel the weight of not posting this more than the weight of not getting some tiny detail perfect. So here you go, an extra-long one to make up for the time.

Every minute Casey spent away from Dennis felt like an hour. Although the steamy heat of the bath was a relief to her clammy, rain-soaked skin, she just couldn't fully unwind. Not after all that had happened. Not without Dennis.

She consoled herself that at least he wasn't far away. He wouldn't let himself rest until he cleaned up their trail of muddy footprints. Still, Casey knew he must feel sore and worn out after that vicious fight with John, and she couldn't help but feel that she was to blame. Guilt was just one of the jumbling emotions inside her. However, all of that inner turmoil halted and her heart leapt the moment she heard him walk toward the bathroom.

The fear of him busting in on her in her vulnerable state never even occurred to her. In fact, some secret part of her almost wished he would walk in. However, the unlocked door didn't budge an inch. He didn't bother knocking either. The only indication he gave her of his presence was a low clearing of his throat. A wordless message: "I'm still here."

Dennis wasn't like anyone else in the whole world to her. He genuinely respected her. In fact, it almost seemed like he revered her. He barely even let himself look directly at her very often. But when he did, his eyes would soften and pull her deeper into the mystery behind his prickly exterior.

She wasn't sure what to say but settled quickly on, "Should I get out now?"

"No," he replied with more gentleness than usual. "You take your time." He waited a beat before adding, "I just wanted to make sure you're still doing okay."

Casey's pulse sped in a light, nervous way, but it wasn't anxiety coursing through her anymore. It was something entirely different.

"Yeah," she squeaked out. "I'm okay."

"Good," said Dennis. "Well then, I'm gonna take a shower now. Uh, I mean...I'll be in the other…" He began to stammer over his words, as if maybe he wasn't sure what to say around her either. "The other one. The other bathroom, I mean. I'll be in there. If you need me."

She liked the way he spoke to her so carefully. Just the sound of his voice embodied home to her now. "Okay."

"Oh, and uh, I left some clothes in here for you when you get out."

With that, Dennis walked away. The heavy office door closed behind him, urging Casey to move faster and wash up quickly. She didn't want any more walls or distances or doors between them.

When she reached the cut on her upper body, she was careful to keep the soapy washrag away. Years of experience had taught her that it would sting like hell. She ducked her chin to glance down at the thin gash and recalled the moments after it happened. Maybe she had only exaggerated inside her mind the way his pupils enlarged and blackened like night and the inhuman growl he made when he lunged toward them. But no, she couldn't have imagined it. It was all too vivid: the thud of his body dropping to the earth as the bullet hit him; the world muting into deathly silence around her; and that inescapable, unexplainable draw inside her, leading her to dig her fingers into the muck of the earth and try to crawl over to his seemingly lifeless body where he lay half-shrouded in the tall grass.

As she scrubbed the caked crescent moons of clay and dirt from beneath her fingernails, she realized it was that same draw between them that compelled her to lean in and tuck a flower in his shirt pocket at the park that day. It was what made her hold onto the belt loop of his pants in the car and even reach for his hand earlier, and it was what kept her worn body moving so she could be near him again now. 

When she got out of the tub, legs wobbling a bit, she could feel how the concrete floor of the bedroom was still slightly damp from where he mopped. The bleach-tinged scent reminded her of the first day she woke up there with her head still whirling and her mouth bone-dry. How things had changed since that day...

Despite his injuries, Dennis apparently also managed to carry in the garbage bags from the car, the ones she'd hastily stuffed full of what belongings she could get from her room back at John's.

Just as Dennis promised, some neatly-folded clothes waited for her next to the first aid kit. She tottered over and leaned against the bed frame to pull on a pair of clean sweats, folding the waistband over on itself until it fit better at her hips.

When she was done cleaning up and bandaging what she could of her few open cuts and scratches, she put on the shirt that Dennis had picked out for her. It was a cheerful golden yellow t-shirt with a superhero print on the front that had faded to nearly nothing after cycles of wearing and washing it over the years. The fabric was so well-worn that it felt like silk skimming over her bare skin as she slipped it on.

The shirt was Kevin's. Somehow, she just knew.

Hedwig's bed was practically calling to her sore, tired body, but everything else inside her begged to be back with Dennis again. She decided she could make it across the hall to the living room to wait for him.

After setting down the first aid kit, she sank down in the corner of the sectional and pulled the throw blanket up to her shoulders. Dennis was still in the shower with only a thin wall keeping them apart. She tried not to think about that.

She didn't have to try for long. As she scanned around the room, feeling thankful to be in the place she was beginning to think of as home, something else caught her attention. It was a new and entirely unexpected addition to Dennis's shelves of photographs above the couch. There, next to the picture of the lazy waterfall at Wissahickon, was a yellow six-petaled flower, pressed tight between two panels of glass and framed to dry.

She hadn't expected him to save it at all. Yet there it was, preserved like a special keepsake.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bathroom doorknob twisting open.

Dennis clearly hadn't expected her to be there waiting on the couch when he got out, and he stopped short in the doorway at the sight of her.

"You kept it."

"What?" He sounded confused.

"The flower...from the park," she clarified. She could feel herself starting to blush. "The one I picked for you." Casey pointed to the frame on the shelf where he carefully displayed it. 

He nodded his silent reply, leaving Casey hoping for something more, although she hadn't the first idea of what he could say to appease her curiosity. 

"I thought you might've thrown it away," she said.

"It was a gift, right?"

"Yes."

He shrugged and shifted on his feet, unsure of where to look as he continued, "Well, I don't really get gifts from people. I don't know." He cleared his throat, brows furrowing a bit. "And I like it. I like that you gave it to me, I mean."

Casey could only smile.

"Maybe that's dumb," he muttered.

"No. I like that you kept it."

His stoic face began to hint at a smile, but then it receded. "Sorry, but...Barry keeps asking if he can come out and see you."

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine. He's just worried about you. Won't take my word for it that he won't like how this feels." 

So Dennis was in pain. He wouldn't directly admit it, but there it was. Now Casey ached for him too. "Are you going to keep the light?"

He sighed. "I need to for their sakes. But Barry's not gonna let up on me unless he sees you."

As much as Casey wanted to see Barry too, she didn't want his visit to come at the expense of losing Dennis. Even so, she nodded her agreement. "Okay then." 

With that, he turned his head to the side and froze for the shortest moment before another alter subtly stepped into the light, more lithe and loose as he reanimated with new expression. There he was, looking almost as frightened as when she left him standing open-mouthed on the sidewalk of the downtown precinct.

For the first time since she met Barry, he had no words. He took off in a fast limp, running to get to her outstretched arms. Casey nearly buckled at the feeling of having him so close to her again — safe, alive, and so warm. She buried her face near the collar of his black t-shirt, breathing in the scent of him. The scent of home.

"You're really here," he said, beginning to cry. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Neither one of them acknowledged the pain in their bodies as they clutched one another, but eventually they let go and sat back down on the couch together. Both began apologizing at the same time.

"No, baby girl," he finally spoke over her, still sniffling a bit. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I should've stood up to him. I should've told the police. God, this was all my fault."

"It's not your fault, Barry. You couldn't have stopped me."

"I should've," he protested. "Oh God, I was so scared for you."

"I was scared too. I know I shouldn't have gone, but he said he'd kill you if I didn't go with him."

"That bastard." He cursed and grimaced as he swept his fingers along the swelling bruise around his eye. "Judging by the way I'm feeling, I guess he tried." She nodded solemnly. Barry, of course, had no idea of what happened once Dennis had fully taken over the light. "Well, I hope our Dennis taught him a thing or two."

 _Our Dennis._ "He did. I never expected...not in a million years..." She tried hard to get it out. "I don't know how you guys even found me, but—"

"Your phone! Dennis remembered we still had it registered with our plan under some finder app. So he said he'd follow the signal down. I just hoped to God it would still be with you."

 _Of course._  Casey felt glad to know Dennis had done whatever he could think of to get to her. Maybe he even broke his staunch driving rules and sped in Barry's little red car to get there as quickly as he did.

"Is that okay?" Barry looked concerned. "I can get Dennis to shut that off if you —" 

"No," she told him. "No, I'm glad you did it. I just didn't want you to get hurt."

"We don't care," he said, shaking his head. "Anything's worth it to have you back here, safe with us. Nothing else matters." Her skepticism must have shown, because he grabbed her hands and insisted, "Really! We're together again! That's all that matters!" He tried to put on a grin for her. "Maybe we're a little worse for the wear, but we're gonna be okay, aren't we?"

Casey nodded, trying to smile for him too. "I think so." She supposed after what she'd witnessed today, maybe anything was possible.

"Gimme one more hug," he said then. "It's time for me to go back to my chair for a while."

It felt so good to be back in his arms. She dropped her head to rest on his rounded shoulder, and her long damp hair draped down his back.

When he slightly shivered then stiffened, Casey knew Barry was gone. She pulled back to find Dennis in his place, still holding her as he began to register their sudden closeness.

Their combined shock and nervousness made them both let go at the same time, then Dennis abruptly got up from the couch. He fumbled to pull on a backup pair of glasses from his t-shirt's single pocket, but after that, he didn't seem to know what else to do with his own hands. He crossed his arms when he saw the way Casey was looking up at him, then he immediately uncrossed them and settled on shoving his red-knuckled hands back into the empty pockets of his black sweats.

Casey stood, and Dennis took a step back, hands still tucked away. She wondered whether he was more wary of her or of himself.

"Here," she said, grabbing the first aid kit from where she'd left it. "We need to get you fixed up now too." When he didn't respond, she continued, "At least let me clean up the places where your skin is broken."

"You don't have to bother." He tried to sound gruff and even dismissive, but it was a poor attempt.

"It needs to be done," she told him more firmly.

"I can do it myself." Dennis was staying stubborn. He cleared his throat before withdrawing his left hand to rub over his scalp where his brown hair was beginning to grow in thick and soft.

She wasn't sure what else to say but "Please."

And that was all it took. At her word, Dennis sat back down on the couch, although he kept one cushion's length between them. 

"I can't reach you all the way over there," she teased, hoping to lighten the new heaviness of the room.

After a few seconds of quiet deliberation, Dennis shuffled over to sit closer to Casey. He still maintained a certain measure of strict personal space, but he didn't complain once as she worked on his wounds. He watched her with quiet intensity as she tore another disinfecting wipe from its package.

"Last one," she said and motioned to his side.

He knew which one she meant, and he obediently lifted his shirt enough to reveal the shallow knife slash at his waist. When she lightly dabbed over the clotted red line there, he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth at the sting.

She jerked back immediately. "I'm so sorry!"

He hardened his features. "It's fine," he insisted, jaw muscles flexing. "You can keep going."

She only just finished taping down fresh gauze down on his flushed skin when a sudden succession of muffled booms echoed outside. They both startled, nerves raw and ready. But it wasn't sharp gunfire, nor was it the comforting rumble of thunder. 

"The city fireworks," Dennis muttered.

It was the first year Casey had missed the show, but she didn't mind.

"All done," she said. Then she closed the kit and moved to put it on the end table.

Dennis dropped his shirt hem to cover himself again then got up. He was good at pretending it didn't hurt.

"Please don't go yet," she pleaded, tiny and timid.

Almost immediately, he sat back down again in the same awkward position as before, hands flat on his knees. "I was just going to get you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Are you sick?"

"I'm fine," she told him. "I just don't want to be alone right now. Not after today."

_[Story Soundtrack: "Cute Name" - Eric Serra](https://youtu.be/NwgjXhmGASs) _

He stared at the floor and nodded. The silence was thick with new awareness of something growing strong and fast between them.

"You did good," he finally said. "Getting through all that today."

"I'm used to it. That's not the worst he's ever put me through."

Dennis colored with new rage, imagining how John had hurt her — not just today but every time before.

Casey knew she needed to distract him. "Just watch," she told him, trying to sound optimistic for a change. "In a few days, I'll be all healed up. Like it never happened." That wasn't entirely true, since many of the scars John left behind were invisible, insidious, and longer-lasting. Some of the things he had done to her never hurt at all. If he hadn't become violent, she wasn't sure if she would've ever been able to break free of her abusive bond.

And if it hadn't come down to what had happened today, Casey wondered if she'd still feel a sense of betrayal or guilt over leaving John.

"You're strong," Dennis said with new reverence in his tone. " Just…promise me you won't go back there."

That was a promise she knew she could keep. Uncle John and her entanglement with him could stay in the past.

"Do you think he'll try to find you?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I honestly think you scared him enough that he might not try."

"Yeah. Maybe so."

For a minute, neither of them spoke, and Casey somehow knew he must be thinking about the same thing that kept puzzling her.

"Dennis," she began cautiously, "What exactly happened back there?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, turning toward her.

She felt herself begin to tremble, and she didn't know exactly why. "Who was that? When John had the gun. Was it you?"

His throat was so tight, she could hear him audibly swallow. "I...I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"I just..." He faltered. "I can't. You can't understand."

"I want to. Please just talk to me. Tell me what happened."

"Which part?"

"When my uncle shot you!"

Dennis's eyes shadowed in confusion, a perplexing darkness. He only shook his head in response. "No. That didn't happen."

"I saw it!"

"You don't know what you saw."

"Why are you acting like this?," she dared ask, feeling emboldened. "Why are you lying?"

He almost growled defensively. "I'm not lying. I never said —"

"You're trying to act like it didn't happen, but I  _know_ it did. I swear to God I watched him shoot you."

The tears came from some final hidden reservoir inside her. She fell forward against him and grasped at the cloth of his shirt to hang on. Anything to ground her in reality. Anything to steady her world from spinning out of control again.

"I saw you die," she wept. "I wanted to die too." Somehow, the pain of John's sharp knife carving into her skin and the breath-stealing weight of his heavy body on top of hers wasn't nearly as bad as the loss she felt when she believed Dennis was dead.

"I'm alive." He sounded stunned. He didn't let himself put his arms around her, but he let her stay where she was, huddled against him. "I'm here," Dennis reassured her, murmuring the words into her hair. His voice was comforting thunder from within his chest. "I'm right here with you. I'm okay. Really." 

"If anything happened to you, I'd die," admitted Casey between hiccuping gasps.

"No, you wouldn't," he said firmly, holding her back from him by the arms now. "I wouldn't let you." Their eyes locked, and once again, Casey was caught in the blue as Dennis continued in a low rumble, "I'd always find a way to take care of you."

Casey's tears slowed and dried as they faced one another. "I don't know why. But thank you," she said, reverent as a prayer. Her voice faded in and out of a whisper. "Thank you for saving me."

"I _had_ to." His tone was rich and thick with an emotion that contradicted the chaste efforts he made to let go of her and situate his hands back on his knees. "I _had_ to come get you."

She wanted so desperately to get the truth from him. "Why?"

"It wasn't even a choice." His pale skin flushed pink, and the dip of his throat between the muscles of his neck pulsed in quickening rhythm. "And I'd fight him again for you if I had to. Again. And again."

Without further hesitation or a second thought, Casey reached for him. The moment her fingers met his right hand where it rested on his knee, Dennis let out a shaky breath.

Then, when she brought his hand back toward her, he didn't fight it. His eyes followed shyly to where Casey directed his willing fingers to brush over her skin, near her temple where he'd touched her before...just once...on the night she stood in the doorway of his office. The night he thought she left forever, and he found an excuse to sweep some of her errant hair back.

She remembered the way it left her tingling for hours afterward. Now, she almost wanted to close her eyes at the feeling of his skin on hers, but she couldn't miss a minute of him anymore.

Dennis, too, was taking in as much of her as he would allow himself. He drank in the way her wide-set eyes shimmered in the low lamplight, her delicate bones beneath thin porcelain skin, and the perfect glistening bow of her lips.

Instead of withdrawing once Casey lowered her hand, Dennis skimmed his fingers lightly over her cheek on his own, apparently mindless of his usual modesty, his pain, or anything else now.

Casey responded by turning her head to barely press her swollen lips against the tips of his fingers. When he didn't protest, she swept down to the warm skin of his palm and gently kissed him there.

Her name rolled out on his resulting sigh. "Casey…"

When she kissed his hand again and shifted to move closer, he shrank back from her, and Casey's heart sank.

"I can't." He pushed himself farther away on the couch. "I just don't...I don't think we..."

"I'm sorry," she murmured and cast her eyes down. When he didn't say anything else, she took his silence as a clear rejection.

In the uncomfortable moments that followed, sorrow bled inside her, drowning out every other good feeling from when he'd touched her. Now she felt her face growing redder every passing second. She couldn't stand the silence between them anymore. She couldn't stand the shame sweeping over her. She stood without daring another glance and walked away.

"Wait," she heard him say in a stunned voice from behind her.

Casey wanted to do as he asked. She was beginning to think she would do almost anything he asked of her. But she felt like she couldn't bare to face him again. Now right now. Because now, nothing was making sense.

She cursed herself for being so bold. Then she cursed herself for overreacting. After all, Dennis hadn't done anything wrong. It was Casey who felt branded an inescapable scarlet by her past. Maybe what John said about her was true. Maybe she _was_ asking for it, or maybe she really was only good for one thing. And Dennis didn't want that. He didn't want anything from her.

"Casey, wait."

She had just passed the threshold of Hedwig's bedroom when she felt him grab her loosely by the wrist. It took no effort at all to get her to spin around and face him.

"What?" She couldn't help the terse way she sounded. She had to keep her lips pressed tight to halt the involuntary quivering of her chin.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and Casey wondered why he had bothered to follow her. She could feel him searching her face for answers to the questions he wouldn't let himself ask.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" He sounded gruff again but sincere.

 _For leaving_ _with Uncle John,_ she thought. _For nearly getting you killed. For being so stupid. For imagining more between us than..._ "Everything."

He, too, looked as if he wanted to say so much more, but he stayed quiet, staring down at her. She couldn't look back up at him now. It hurt too much.

"I shouldn't have done that," she muttered. "I just thought...maybe..." 

"No," he blurted abruptly. "We can't."

Casey's heart felt like it was caving in on itself.

"I have to keep myself at a distance." His voice was trembling.

" _Why?_ "

Each word he spoke began to catch in his throat. "Because I'm so...so fucked up."

"No, you're not," she pushed herself to say, despite the scratchiness of her throat and the heaviness inside her.

"I am. I've never...I will never have a normal life," he told her firmly. "I don't get to have what normal people have." He still hadn't let go of her wrist, and his grip was growing sweaty. "I can't have what I..." His tongue moved to subtly explore the cut on his bottom lip. "...what I want."

"What do you want?"

 "Casey, don't."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not a good person."

"Why are you even saying that? You got me away from there. You stood up for me when no one else ever has."

He was left quiet for a moment, considering Casey's point. It was almost as if he'd forgotten the good things he'd done. Or maybe he felt the good he'd done couldn't outweigh the bad he somehow still imagined inside himself. "I could be dangerous."

"You're not. Even back there, you had every chance to kill my uncle, but you didn't."

"I wanted to," he admitted. "It would've been so easy. Just to make sure he never hurt you again. Or anyone else."

"That's why you're not like him. You couldn't kill someone."

"But you don't know that," he insisted.

"I do! I know you."

"You've been with me for a few weeks, and suddenly you think you know everything about me? You think Dr. Fletcher would be happy if she knew _you_ were here around me? If she knew how you got here? You think I wouldn't get carted off to an asylum?"

"Only because they don't understand. But I do. I think I knew you were different from from the start."

"The start? What, when I drugged you in a parking lot and kidnapped you? Huh? Was that when you knew?" His tone had gone acerbic and mocking. If this was part of the wall he used to keep people at a distance, he was close to succeeding with Casey. "Or did you know when I dragged you here and locked you away in a little room by yourself?"

"That's not who you are."

"But it's what I did. Isn't it?"

She said nothing in response. She couldn't argue with that point.

"You were supposed to be a sacrifice. Or did you forget that part?"

She blanched.

"Did you?"

"No," she said, trying to stand her ground. "But it was Patricia's idea. And you fought her to save me. Or did  _you_ forget that part?"

"Patricia's still a part of me. If she's crazy, that makes me crazy."

"You're not crazy. No part of you is crazy. Stop saying that."

He held her wrist tighter, and her breath hitched in her throat. "I'm living with other people inside my head." He was speaking candidly in a way he never had with anyone else before. "They're sharing my body."

"And that's special," she insisted. "It makes you who you are."

"I don't know what's going to happen next. I keep control as much I can, but maybe...maybe I'm not strong enough to keep someone else from coming out someday. Someone who could really hurt you. Or maybe someday I'll just snap. Maybe I'm not even real. I'm just some fucked up figment of Kevin's imagination. Except now…now it's really bad."

"It's not bad. It's going to be —"

"I think Patricia was right...about what we believe. How it makes us what we are."

The realization of what he was saying trickled over her and left her shivering.

"She was right about what was coming," he panted.

"It was _him_ ," Casey murmured then. "At my uncle's house. That was the Beast. Wasn't it?"

"Oh Christ." Dennis let go of her and sagged back against the opposite wall, his hip bashing into the corner of the dresser as he went. He looked completely distraught in a way she'd never seen him.

"I knew it," said Casey, feeling like she'd fallen into another dream or some supernatural realm where something beyond reality was suddenly possible. "Something was different. He wasn't you."

Dennis leaned heavily against the wall as he frantically asked her, "What was he like? What did you see?"

"You need to sit down, okay?" She tried to take his hand again, but he pulled away.

"What did he look like?," he demanded.

"You don't know?" 

"I couldn't see him." He shook his head. "But I felt him. Not the way I feel the others. And I couldn't stop him. It was like something bursting out of me. It hurt. Bad. And then it all went black."

This time when she reached for him, he surrendered and allowed her to take him by the hand to lead him toward the bed. Casey sat down first, and then Dennis followed, dropping his head into his hands and covering his eyes.

"I wasn't back in the room with the others," he continued. "It was just black. I thought maybe I was dead. But then I heard you...screaming my name. And I woke up in the grass. It was like…you pulled me back out of the dark." He looked up at her with tears in his eyes when he said that, and Casey was overcome. "Every moment since then, I've been thinking about what'll happen if he comes out again. What could happen to you. I don't know how to control him."

"You're stronger than all of them," she reminded him.

"Not the Beast." He looked defeated. "I don't even know what he wants. I don't think I could stop him if he comes for you, Casey."

"He's not going to do that," she told him firmly. "Because _you_ would never hurt me. And deep down…" She wasn't sure if it was true, but she was going to say it. _Maybe if they are what they believe they are..._ "I think Patricia won't hurt me either. Because she's a part of you. And she's a part of Kevin."

"But what if I really am crazy?" He seemed close to crying. "I should get you a one-way ticket away from here. Away from your uncle. Away from us. Somewhere safe where you can start over."

"You think I can magically get a clean slate just because I leave here? I'm just as fucked up as you think you are. And I'm not gonna let you push me away," Casey told him, surprised at herself for being so strong in the moment. "You can keep trying, but I won't stop trying either."

He hesitated, looking at her. Into her. "Why?"

He drew closer. So close. When he dipped his head toward her, their foreheads barely touched, and neither of them fought their virginal connection.

"Dennis," she said, just under her breath. "You already know why."

Dennis exhaled with a slight tremble. His wall had come down.

Casey could scarcely believe it when he took her hand and lifted it to cup his feverish face. He was allowing her to touch him in a way no one else ever had, and he leaned into her palm almost like a puppy starved for affection.

Eventually, he moved his other hand to her cheek, and Casey reveled in the feeling of his thumb stroking over her jawline, purposefully but lightly, so lightly. It barely tickled over her skin, sending a thrill through her core like lightning. 

Without warning, he curled his hand around the back of her neck and gently brought her closer to him.

His lips were hovering in front of hers, mere inches away. The remaining space strained between them.

"Please," she whispered.

He could only obey.

Dennis moved forward, timid and tender, to barely graze his lips over hers. The way he kissed her was unlike anything she ever felt before. She knew he wasn't experienced, but he never fumbled or tried to go too far, too fast. Instead, he took his time in exploring the sensations of her velvety lips against his.

Every so often, he would pull back a few inches to look at her with an expression akin to awe, questioning whether this was really okay.

All she could do at those brief, breath-heavy intervals was give him a slight nod of encouragement and let her soil-rich eyes ask for more.

Then he moved back in to kiss her all over again, repeating the pattern of syrup-slow softness. When they fully connected, something inside Casey went soaring. She began to melt in surrender, dropping to the pillows behind her and bringing him with her. Both were enthralled by the discovery of how kissing felt with one another, what it was like to absorb the warmth of a body and like it…not just tolerate or endure it.

Finally, for the first time in their lives, they weren't alone in the world anymore. And neither of them could fully believe it was happening. Even Casey was unsure how it could feel so natural, so right to run her fingers over the shorn softness of Dennis's hair as their lips joined again, more intensely than before.

When Dennis pulled back again, he took a deep breath. “I don't know what I'm doing."

"Keep going," is all she could say.

At that, Dennis nearly moaned, and he covered her mouth with another kiss. Casey felt entirely lost in the pull between them. A tiny moan escaped her throat, and everything else went hazy. The past, the future, their trauma, their pain — all of it faded from view. Nothing else mattered but Dennis and the way he made her feel.

Each kiss grew more intimate and lingered longer than the last.

When Casey traced the seam of his lips with the tip of her tongue, his mouth opened for her with a one-note throaty whimper. She wasn't sure if it was even a conscious decision when his hand dropped to the curve of her hips and his fingers slipped onto her bare skin along the waistline of her sweats. She couldn't hold back the resultant gasp.

He jerked back immediately, thinking he'd gone too far. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she told him. "I swear. I'm just..."

"No, it's not." He shook his head and pulled back, trying to adjust himself as nonchalantly as he could. "I didn't bring you here for this."

Casey told herself it wasn't the same, but now she felt a familiar guilt creeping over her for the way her body felt, left cruelly wanting more from him. "I know you didn't."

Casey wondered if he was feeling the same curious mix of feelings too. That desire for more and the terrible sense of shame for desiring it at all. Either way, just as he respected her boundaries, she would fully respect his.

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong," she replied. She had to tell herself that as much as for his sake.

"I told you I'm too messed up."

"You're not," she told him. "If anyone understands, trust me, I do."

"I'm...just feeling...real mixed up right now."

"We probably both need some sleep," she suggested. He agreed and moved to get up from the bed. "Wait," she pleaded, and he froze. "I really don't want to be alone."

"Casey, I shouldn't stay in here with you. Like that."

"We don't have to do anything but sleep. I'd feel a lot better with you here. Please?"

After a moment of rubbing a hand thoughtfully over his scalp, he relented and moved to take his spot on the other side of the bed, leaving a few feet of space between their warm bodies.

Both of them were quiet as they shifted under the covers to find a comfortable spot. Casey ended up on her side, nuzzling into her pillow and watching Dennis as he settled on his back with his hands smoothing the sheet and comforter out over his chest.

Finally, he seemed satisfied, and together, they lay in uncomfortable quiet. Only the sound of their slowing breaths and the occasional embarrassing gurgle from their empty bellies punctured the silence, and every now and then, they'd hear more fireworks going off outside. 

Hedwig's clock showed it was past midnight now. Independence Day had come and gone.

Even as the minutes passed, neither of them could fall asleep or had even bothered pretending to. Words didn't seem to be enough anymore. She'd thanked him over and over already. They'd both admitted they were sorry for so many things. What else was left to say?

Then Dennis unexpectedly murmured, "I've never been in bed with someone like this before."

Truthfully, Casey had slept next to her uncle plenty of times. She'd also woken up next to Hedwig more than once now, but that was different. Much different than being with Dennis.

"Never?"

"Not once," he answered.

Casey felt unsure of what to say. She only wanted him to feel comfortable beside her...being with her. "Is it okay?"

From across the bed in the darkness, Dennis finally spoke again. "I want it to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I didn't call it a slow burn for nothing, babes. 
> 
> Really hope you like how it's going so far. Most of your comments have been absolutely amazing, and I swear I'll respond when I can. Sometimes they begin to overwhelm me because each one of them mean so much to me that I want to personally respond, and it can add up, but please don't think me rude for not getting back to you sooner. - xoxo, J


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